The Opposing Shore
by Ninurtah
Summary: Convinced he has lost everything dear to him, Torin meets a Jedi who offers to help him rebuild the one thing he still has - his connection to the Force. But the strange woman has secrets of her own. A direct continuation of my story 'The Knight, Death, and the Devil'.
1. Far From Home

Torin stared at the Jedi across from him. So many questions went through his mind. How had he gotten here? What had ultimately become of Lord Andar's ship? Had she found his friends, too? Were they alive? Were _any _of them alive?

The woman made no more attempts to move closer to him, even as he backed away. Nor did she make any hostile movements. He couldn't see if she wore a lightsaber under the brown tunic that hung just past her waist, but he knew that if she were anything like her Sith counterparts, her weapon never left her side.

He opened his mouth to speak but found it dry, and had to swallow to allow himself to talk. "Who are you?" he said in a raspy voice.

She smiled and beckoned him forward with a finger. "I'll show you." Her voice was matronly and rustic, her accent betraying her as someone who had grown up on the edge of the core worlds. With that short declaration she exited the door she had entered through and walked out into the light of day. Torin reflexively moved to chase her before stopping himself and looking around the hallway. No, there was nothing to do _but _follow. Whatever game this woman was playing at, he'd have to go along with if he wanted answers.

He followed her out the door and stopped, shielding his eyes against the blinding rays of sun as he scanned his surroundings. A sparse evergreen forest surrounded him, ancient pines towering far above while others grew hardly any taller than himself. The air was crisp and clear, carrying the scent of fresh pine needles and fertile soil on a stiff breeze that had him wishing he'd pillaged the bedroom for a shirt before leaving.

The woman was nowhere to be seen, and he turned around to look back at the building he had left. It certainly wasn't a hospital. It consisted of two white domes, the sort of reliable homestead one would expect to find on border worlds the galaxy over. He stepped back on the concrete porch, then stopped when the his heel collided with something. A set of wool-lined boots sat on the ground. Taking another look around, he slipped them on, then bent down to tuck his pants into them.

"Don't take too long!"

He looked up to see the woman standing beside the thick trunk of a tall pine.

"Hey!" he shouted back, then stood up and ran towards her. She walked behind the tree, disappearing from view. He reached the pine and slid to a stop beside it, only to find empty air.

"What the hell..." he muttered under his breath as he wheeled around on his feet. Without the house he had left still standing a hundred feet away, he would've already gotten lost in the forest. There was nothing to guide him, just endless trees and flat scrub.

The crack of a twig had him turning around, looking for the source of the noise that bounced off of tree trunk after tree trunk. Off in the distance stood the woman, leaning on a tree with one hand. Without saying a word Torin bolted at her, determined to reach the Jedi before she was able to pull her disappearing act again. She calmly strolled behind the trunk of the pine, and Torin picked up speed until he nearly sprinted past it. As he came to an abrupt halt he whirled his head about and ran around the trunk, looking in vain for a woman who seemed more magician than knight.

"Almost there!"

His head whipped to the left, where the Jedi had assumed a new spot some fifty feet away. His foot lifted up from the ground but he pulled it back and waited, glaring silently at the woman. The wind rustled the branches above him and the pair stared at each other in silence until the woman shifted her weight onto one foot and grasped her wrist in front of her. Torin relented and trod slowly over, crunching dead pine needles underfoot as he fully expected the woman to slip behind the tree again.

She did not, and he came within arm's reach of her before stopping. They had reached the edge of a forest, and stood beneath a stone incline that jutted up from the forest floor in both directions.

"Who are you?" he said, repeating his earlier question.

With a broad smile she leaned towards him slightly and pressed a hand to her chest. "I am Master Ziare, of the Jedi Order."

Despite the bizarre introduction, he didn't feel that she meant him any harm. Not immediately, at least—and if this were an interrogation, it was unlike any he'd imagined.

"Where am I?" He looked around the featureless forest.

She turned away and motioned for him to follow as she walked. Ziare trod up the steep incline behind her, then gestured out into the distance. Torin crept up along inside her, keeping an anxious eye on the woman before looking to where she was pointing.

"You are on Tython," she said. Nestled in a valley far ahead of them was a huge structure of three cylinders topped with flattened domes. People milled about the plazas and courtyards in front of the building in a flurry of activity. "That is the Jedi Temple."

Torin pushed away from the edge and stumbled back down the ridge, nearly falling over as he fled.

"The Jedi Temple?" he said, breathing hard. "Why? What am I doing here?" His back struck a tree and he stopped.

Ziare followed him down from the ridge with her fingertips pressed together in front of her waist.

"Maybe we should talk inside," she said. His eyes flickered in the direction of the temple and his face tensed in fear. "In my home." Ziare motioned in the direction they had come from and began the short walk back, with Torin following at a healthy distance.

Once they reached her doorstep, Torin removed his dirtied boots and rubbed his arms as the mild chill he'd incurred finally set in.

"You can find a shirt in the wall closet." Ziare pointed to the bedroom as she passed it, then continued through another door that slid open with her approach. Torin re-entered the bedroom, and as he looked over the walls he noticed a minimalistic set of doors built into the wall, with an indented button next to them. He pressed it and the closet opened to reveal a rack of identical shirts, all off-white and long-sleeved. He pulled one of the form-fitting garments over his head and smoothed it out as he entered the hallway, then continued into the next room.

Bookcases filled the walls of the right side of the room, surrounding a seating area with a couch and a few chairs. Not a single speck of dust could be seen on any of the imposing tomes filling the shelves. On the left stood Ziare, her back turned to Torin as she did something at the kitchen counter lining the left side of the room. A window half his height spanned the wall opposite him, giving a view of the forest outside.

Ziare turned towards him to reveal a mug of hot tea in each hand, then walked to a square metal table on which she set down the two steaming cups.

Torin approached and took a seat across from Ziare. She twisted around in her chair and reached for a datapad on the counter behind her. While her back was turned, Torin reached out with his hands and lifted both mugs a fraction of an inch off of the table. With a twist of his fingers he rotated them swiftly around, seeking to swap their drinks.

"Ah!" he cried out. Both mugs fell to the table, spilling tea onto the tiled floor below as Torin doubled-over in pain and clutched at his aching right hand. His scar burned in agony, as if the wound were being inflicted all over again.

Ziare whirled about in surprise.

"What happened?" she said. Torin sucked in air through his teeth and sat up straight, still putting pressure on the hand to numb the pain lancing through it. "Were you trying to _switch _our drinks?" Her tone was more curious than accusatory.

"Force of habit," he replied between pained breaths.

She frowned. "A habit learned in the Sith Empire?"

He didn't answer. If she wanted to probe him for information, she'd have to do better than that.

"I know what happened to you, Torin." She turned the datapad towards him, showing an old ID picture of and a short listing of the information acquired by Republic military when he had been drafted into war. "That is your name, right? Torin Val?"

The _drip-drip _of hot tea from the table continued, and the Jedi set down the tablet. "I'm not your enemy, Torin."

"How did you know my name?" he snapped at her.

She sat up straight in her chair, looking quite taken aback. "After we met on Darth Dominus' ship, I knew that there was something—"

"No, I mean _on _Dominus' ship. You said my name."

Her eyes remained on his, but he could tell that she wanted nothing more than to look away.

"A fellow Jedi on Uracco noticed your possible Force sensitivity, but you were captured before contact could be made." She leaned towards him and pressed her forearms to the table. "Part of my duties involve recovering high-value targets, so i'd been made aware of you. That is why I was there to rescue you all those weeks ago."

"Weeks?" His jaw dropped and his chair scraped against the floor as he scooted back and looked around in a daze. "I've been asleep for weeks?"

She nodded.

"Well—what happened? The battle, and Andar's ship—"

Ziare held up a calming hand, stopping him short. "Do not worry. The Republic lost no small amount of men and ships, but thanks to you—"

He shot out of his chair. "The _ship! _What happened to Andar's ship?"

The Jedi rose to her feet and looked at him in concern. "Lord Andar's ship was totally destroyed. The only reason you survived is that you were so far from the collision."

His blood ran cold and he felt sick—very sick.

"Oh," he said in a monotone voice, turning away from her with a glassy-eyed stare. He felt as if his soul might leave his body.

"Are you alright?" she said.

"I'm just... tired." He took a step forward, but his legs wobbled and his knees struck the floor. Ziare knelt in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face that his eyes did not follow. Her mouth moved, but all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. She gently pulled him to his feet, and he managed to summon some strength to follow her guiding hands as she lead him to a couch.

She set him down, then sat down in a chair diagonal to him. He leaned his arms on his knees and stared at the ground, vaguely aware of the Jedi's presence but unable to process anything through the shock that had overtaken his mind. Gradually the ringing in his ears died down, and awareness returned to him.

"They're all dead." His statement was as much a question for her as it was a way for him to say aloud what he had been thinking. The words sounded absurd, like this couldn't possibly be the reality he had awoken to. "I killed them."

Ziare furrowed her brow in concern.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

He sat up from his hunched position and stared vacantly across the room. "We stopped Andar, but she wanted to use the fleet against the Republic." In the corner of his vision he could see Ziare nodding as he gestured with his speech. His arms felt weightless and disconnected from his body.

"She—you mean Lady Vathamma?"

"We fought, and I crashed the ship into the station. We were thrown from the ship, and I pushed her back in." A minute ago he'd been determined to keep his mouth shut until he had a better idea on what the Jedi had planned for him. Now, he wasn't even thinking about that.

The Jedi raised an eyebrow. "You tried to save her?"

The back of his head hit the cushioned couch and he looked up at the ceiling.

"Do whatever you want with me."

"You're not in any trouble!" She stood up and sat next to him on the couch. "You're a hero, Torin!"

He'd killed the only two women he loved, and she called him a hero. The only reason he didn't lash out at her was that his self-hatred overshadowed anything he could muster towards her. He closed his eyes and felt the flare of anger in his chest, a merciful—if brief—respite from the gnawing emptiness consuming him.

He rolled his head to the side just enough to look at her. "I don't know what you want from me."

"I don't want anything from you." She placed her palms on his left hand atop his knee. "You've been through so much, but that's over now. You're here, you're safe."

He looked at her with tired eyes. "I lost _everything." _His head swung away from her towards the window, outside which the forest sat deathly still. "I should've died on that ship."

After a moment she stood up from the couch, and he heard a door open as she left the room. For hours his eyes didn't leave the forest, though he wasn't really looking at it. The light outside took on pastel hues, then dimmed into near darkness before the cold rays of Tython's moon pierced the woods. He considered what he'd had, what he'd lost, and what he would do now.

The answers to the first two questions were painfully clear, but the third was unanswerable. With nothing and no one to support him he was totally and utterly alone, marooned on the shore of a barren island from which he saw no escape. Without moving a muscle he drifted off into sleep.

Torin's tortured thoughts were swept away and replaced by a misty dreamscape that coalesced into a vision of a sun-speckled courtyard. Sidewalks ran along shallow pools of water and through lush gardens. He walked along one such path, passing under the shadow of a massive tree that seemed to shade the entire courtyard with its foliage. Ships and cruisers passed overhead, as if the garden were the lone area of solitude in a sea of activity outside it. He called out in between the drone of passing ships, though he couldn't tell what he was yelling.

His feet left the path and his hands parted a flowering bush as he neared the edge of the garden. Seated against a beige wall was a young girl in a brown robe, no older than ten. Her bare green head was cradled in between her knees, and a single long braid of black hair hung from the back of her skull. He reached a hand out and walked towards her, and her gaze snapped up to meet his.. She was covered in dirt and scratches, and her brilliant green eyes were narrowed in anger.

Then, she spoke.

In the dream he tried to reply, but couldn't form words. The girl's angular features faded away into mist, and the mist in turn swirled until it became a liquid that bubbled in his ears and covered his skin. He tried to take a breath, but found that he couldn't do that either. His eyes opened and he realized that this was no dream—he was drowning.

He flailed around but found his movements constricted, like he was wrapped in something. A panicked scream escaped his throat, but the water flooding into his mouth quickly put a stop to that. He kicked his hands and feet against wet fabric, his movements slowed by the water. Something hard pressed against his feet, and the water stopped moving past him—he had touched bottom.

In confusion, fear, and no small amount of anger he lashed out, creating an explosion of Force around him that shredded the bag to pieces. It sounded as if a bomb had gone off underwater, and the murky depths continued to thump with the aftershock as he turned his head upwards and pushed up from the ground. A silvery disc hung above the surface, its ghostly light piercing the depths and giving him a goal to swim towards. He swam upwards, propelling himself with his hands and feet against the water weighing on him and the wet clothes billowing around him.

As soon as his face breached the surface he took a massive breath in, tasting sweet air. Insects chirped all around him, filling the night air with a chorus of clicking and humming. Turning away from the moon above him he looked around, spinning in the water until he saw Ziare standing on the shore of the small lake.

"What the hell?" he shouted, then began swimming towards her. If she wanted to see his use of the Force, he would be happy to give her a hands-on lesson once he reached her. That was his intent, but as he swam he realized just how tired he had become from his escape. For a brief, terrifying moment, he thought he would slip underneath the waterline, but his feet touched ground and he staggered onto the shore before collapsing onto his chest. Grass tickled the side of his face and the waves lapped at his bare toes.

"So you don't want to die, after all." She sat down on a rock next to him.

Too exhausted to indulge his anger, he waited for the lake's icy grip to leave him while his heaving chest pushed against the ground with each labored breath.

"I miss them," he panted.

She patted him gently on his back. "I know."


	2. A Long Time Coming

Far away from the forests and mountains of Tython, Isatryn Sol sat dreaming. She was a young child again, fleeing through scrub and brush that scraped at her exposed hands and face as she ran. Tears and dirt stained her face, and the bruises under her robe throbbed with a dull ache. The scar running across the front of her throat hummed its sharp song, though that wound was far older than any the other Jedi Padawans had inflicted.

She ran headlong into a stone wall and stopped, grimacing in pain as she turned around and slid down to the grass with her back against the wall. With her head tucked between her knees she rocked back and forth, listening to the growing shouts and jeers of the children chasing her. The teachers might chase them off again, but that wouldn't put an end to it—it never did.

Mixed in with the raucous yells she heard another, more earnest voice, calling out her name. Not awful epithets—her _real _name. Only one other Padawan used her true name.

Not that 'Isatryn' was the only thing he called her. 'Sister,' he had said once. Isatryn had never known her family, and neither child had ever had someone to call sibling. So, they had made an agreement. To her it was the first—and last—bond she had ever formed. Some might not call it a real family, but to her it felt more real than the genuine article.

The bushes in front of her rustled, and someone trod across the grass towards her.

"Isatryn?" he said.

She could hardly hear him over the shouts of the other Padawans, their cries becoming a roar that filled her head. Why wouldn't they leave them alone? Why wouldn't they leave _her _alone?

"Are you alright—"

Her head snapped up and she looked at Torin, his brow furrowed in concern and caution as he pulled his outstretched hand away from her.

"Kill them," she said in a low, harsh voice. "Kill them all!"

She opened her eyes and awakened to the same courtyard as in her dream. The boy in front of her was gone, and the once-pristine gardens were burnt and dead. Only the stubborn vines snaking their way across cracked stone remained, as did the burnt-out husk of a massive tree sticking defiantly up into the air in the center of the plaza. The bodies of dozens of mens lay around Isatryn, scavengers who had ventured into the temple in hopes of finding something to salvage.

But there was nothing of value there. Only corpses, remnants, and painful reminders of a time that could never be reclaimed.

The Falleen pulled down the hood of her ragged black robe and looked up into the sky. Lines of cruisers zoomed by overhead, a noisy reminder that despite the deathly stillness around her, the city of Coruscant surrounding the sanctuary teemed with life and activity. That was not where her attention was directed, though. She let her awareness drift past the traffic, off of the planet, and through the blackness of space as she honed in on an all-too-familiar presence.

"Yes," she said. "I hear you."

* * *

Torin sat outside the Jedi council chambers, drumming his fingers on his knees and casting surreptitious glances at the men and women passing by, most of whom returned curious looks. He wasn't dressed as a Jedi, and must have looked enormously out of place in the sacred temple. His entrance with Ziare had drawn quite a few stares and hushed whispers. The woman had sat him down on a bench and told him to wait while she relayed his story to the other assembled Masters. Without being able to hear what was being said past the polished wood doors, he could only guess in what light his name had been cast.

Servant of the Sith? Imperial turncoat, and savior of the Republic? Hapless victim who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Or perhaps they didn't know what to think, and their attempts to untangle his bizarre tale was why Ziare had been in there for over an hour.

The door creaked open, and Torin sat up straight to see who would emerge. Ziare's weathered face peeked out, and she motioned for him to come in.

The circular chambers were dominated by a circular table, open at the center, around which sat seven robed Jedi. A tentacled Twi'lek on the left, a furry Bothan on the right—their ranks were far more diverse than the purity-minded Sith. Directly across from Torin sat a woman, roughly Ziare's age, whose presence seemed to dominate the rest of the group. She had dark hair with thin braids on both sides of her head, and narrow eyes that watched him like a huntress.

Ziare sat down in a seat near the door, and indicated for him to approach the other Masters. They looked to the woman at their center, who folded her hands and placed them on the table.

"Master Ziare told us your story," she said. "We just have a few more questions for you."

He tried to put his hands in his pockets before remembering that his pants had none.

"Did you ever try to escape from the Sith who kidnapped you?"

The council members all turned to him and waited expectantly. His stomach growled, and he suddenly regretted his staunch refusal to eat before leaving Ziare's home that morning.

"No," he said softly, then cleared his throat and gathered his voice. "No."

"We were told that was because you feared what she might do to you. Is that true?"

Torin glanced back at Ziare from the corner of his eye.

"Yes," she said to him—but her mouth did not move. His eyes went wide as he processed what hed just experienced. A voice echoed in his mind, undeniably that of the Jedi sitting silently behind him.

"Are you alright?" his interrogator said. Torin turned back to her.

"Yes, sorry," he stammered, taking a moment to calm his nerves. "No, that isn't true."

"Oh?" She pushed her back against the chair.

"I didn't leave, because I... fell in love with one of her slaves."

Ziare shifted on the bench behind him. "No doubt by the Sith's design," she said aloud.

Torin closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his thighs before relaxing again. The other Jedi woman raised a hand in a silent order for Ziare not to interrupt any further.

"And she was on board Lord Andar's ship when it was destroyed?"

He looked at the ground. "Yes."

"My condolences." Her words rang hollow; he wondered if someone who swore off all personal attachments could even feel loss like he did.

Ziare rose from her seat and walked behind Torin. "I think that is enough."

The head Jedi looked to her seated fellows, who all nodded to her. She, in turn, nodded to Ziare, who put her hands on Torin's shoulders and lead him out of the room before returning and closing the doors behind her.

She stood expectantly in front of the other Masters, who eyed her awkwardly. None wanted to speak first.

"Well?" she said, looking to each of them.

"We cannot approve this," the woman at the head of the table said.

Ziare frowned. "If that is so, Grand Master Shan, then I must ask why you put him through that questioning in the first place."

A dark-skinned man in a white robe shifted in his seat. "That was done as a courtesy to you, Master Ziare. You insisted we speak with him, and we did."

"And?" Ziare exclaimed, her composure breaking. "Did you hear something that would cause you to worry?"

"All of it causes me to worry," said a Twi'lek whose green head tentacles were cracked and faded with age. "He was under the tutelage of a Sith Lord for _months."_

"Yes! Exactly!" Ziare turned and pointed back to the door. "How much worry do we devote to wondering when another one of our Padawans—one of our fellow _Masters _—will be drawn to the Dark Side? He was dragged into the darkest depths but emerged untainted. Do any of you sense the Dark Side within him?"

The Masters pressed their lips together and glanced at each other, none saying a word.

"He has endured the temptations of the Dark Side, and you seek to deny him because he was tempted in the first place?" Ziare said.

The dark man raised a calming hand. "It's not only that. I shouldn't need to tell you that Padawans are taken at a very young age—"

"He was _already _a Padawan," she pleaded, slapping her chest. "Mine!"

Grandmaster Shan looked at her with concern. "That was over _ten years ago, _Ziare. He has grown, and formed attachments that make embracing the Jedi way impossible."

Ziare steadied her breathing, and her usual composure returned. "He _has _no attachments. Torin Val lost everything on that ship, and now you want to throw him out into the cold." She looked Shan in the eyes, and her voice grew lower. "It was only by his doing that you were able to recover the Mass Shadow Generator. A weapon so terrible, that you feel it necessary to hide its existence from Republic military."

A flicker of emotion passed over the Grandmaster's face, and she glared down her nose at Ziare. Both women knew what this was—blackmail.

Shan looked to the other Masters. A few shrugged, while others avoided her gaze entirely. With a sigh she turned her focus back to Ziare.

"It's up to him, then."

Ziare bowed to Grand Master Shan, then left the council chambers. Still seated on the bench beside the door was Torin, elbows propped up on his knees and face directed at the floor.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Ziare smiling at him. "All done."

He stood up, and both descended the curving stairwell to the first floor of the temple. Jedi of all ages criss-crossed the circular room from adjoining hallways, moving about their business with a serene haste. The older ones seemed to glide by rather than walk, as if they were always an inch or two off the ground. Whereas powerful Sith were terrifying in their mastery of physical power, Jedi grew further and further away from worldly concerns as time passed. Torin found both conditions unsettling in their own ways.

"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do now?"

He hung his shoulders as they descended the wide stone steps leading out of the temple. It was midday, and the training grounds around the plaza were filled with students and their teachers.

"I've tried not to," he said.

She moved silently through the courtyard alongside him. Even when she wasn't actively trying to conceal herself, the woman seemed to have no presence.

"You could stay here," she said.

He stopped and smiled awkwardly. "And do what, live in your spare bedroom?" With a shake of his head he continued walking. "No, I'm going home."

Wherever _that _was now, he thought.

After a few moments he glanced to his side and noticed that Ziare was no longer walking beside him. He whirled about and saw her kneeling on the stone twenty feet behind him, her face and hands pressed to the ground.

"Let me teach you," she shouted to him. The people passing by stared in confusion, but kept walking. Torin walked quickly over to her.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, becoming increasingly conscious of the attention they were getting from the classes being held nearby. Students armed with practice sabers stopped mid-swing to watch the unusual sight of an honored Master bowing her head to the ground before a total stranger.

"Stay here. You can be what you were _always _meant to be." She turned her face up to look at him.

This was all wrong, he thought. People were supposed to _beg _Masters to take them as Padawans. Teachers didn't prostrate themselves in front of students and ask for the honor of being their teacher.

Frowning, he bent over and pulled her to her feet.

"You don't want me as your student."

"I just told you that I do."

"Well, I don't want a teacher." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I want to go home."

She sighed and cast her eyes towards the ground, then looked back to him.

"Alright. You can stay with me until the next transport ship arrives."

They started walking again, moving across the plaza towards the wooded path that led into the foothills and Ziare's home.

"When will that be?"

"Just under six months."

"Six months?" he exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. He had been expecting days, _weeks _at the very worst.

She stopped and turned to him. "The location of Tython is a closely guarded secret. Few ships come _or _go."

His mouth hung open in disbelief. _Half a year _living among these people?

"Or," she said. "You can come with me."

"You're leaving Tython?"

"In three weeks time."

With a thoughtful groan he bit his lip and threw a glance back at the temple. Neither option was particularly enticing, but given a choice between three weeks and six months, the choice was clear.

"Ok," he muttered. "I'll go with you."

"Wonderful!" She turned and resumed walking towards her home. He couldn't help but feel that he'd agreed to something more than what her words had implied, but he had few options and even less of a desire to press her for details. All he wanted was to eat, sleep, and pass the three weeks as quickly as possible.

They started along the forest path, moving from the lowlands surrounding the Jedi temple into hills, then up a rocky ridge. It was nothing like the cliffs he'd scaled on Yavin 4, but his experience on that moon had made him instinctively wary of standing on anything higher than a footstool. Ziare walked ahead of him, watching with mild amusement the great care he took in treading the gravelly path.

"Are you afraid of heights?" she said.

"I'm not afraid," he shot back. "I'm careful."

"I walk this path every day. If it were going to give way, it would already have—"

Clumps of dirt rolled down the slope below them, followed by the rock below Ziare's feet. The woman staggered to her left, nearly falling down the ridge before Torin reached out with his left hand and grabbed onto her with the Force.

Ziare stared back at him from her unnatural position standing on the edge of the broken slope, body tilted diagonally into the air.

"See how naturally it comes to you?" She casually crossed one foot over the other, still perched on the edge while he held her aloft. "You use the Force without thinking."

He frowned and heaved her back onto the path.

"Whatever you _think _you can offer me, I don't want it!"

She opened her mouth to speak.

"Are you going to say I'm wasting my potential? That I've got all this power and I'm letting it slip through my fingers?" His voice cracked as he struggled to catch his breath. "I tried embracing it once. Look what it got me."

"That was before, Torin. This time we can do things _right _."

He laughed. "So I can end up living alone in the woods, like you? Is that what grand reward awaits me if I embrace the Jedi way?"

Ziare cast her eyes downward, and Torin swallowed.

"I didn't mean—" he started.

Torin stepped forward and reached out for her, but stopped when he saw that she was still avoiding his gaze. He let his hand drop and turned away from her, treading back down the path as he cursed her, cursed his fortune, and cursed his temper. He began walking aimlessly past towering pines and shallow ravines. Shaded woodland gave way to stony hills, and he passed into a grass-covered valley. Wind tore through the divide, and the bright sun bathed the expanse in a cold glow. To some it might have been a beautiful sight, but he had come to learn that the mind was its own place. Without inner peace, the calm serenity of his surroundings instead became a lonely solitude. All the better to brood in, he thought.

As he waded through the meadow, Torin saw a figure off in the distance. The man sat atop a rock, perched on it like an island in the sea of grass. Torin turned away and kept walking, ignoring the person who had unwittingly intruded on his thoughtful wandering.

"Hey!" Came a shout. "Did they send you to find me?"

Torin turned to see the man—a Twi'lek—had risen to his feet. He had skin as blue as the seas of Manaan, and had one of his two head tentacles draped around his neck like a scarf. A black bandana covered his forehead, making the lekku look like a fleshy headdress rather than part of his body.

Torin shrugged. "I've got no idea who you are!"

Wind rippled through the grass like an ocean wave, and the Twi'lek sat back down, then turned away.

Torin shook his head and moved as if to continue walking, but then walked over to the man.

"Why would someone be trying to find you?" Torin said.

The Twi'lek cast a glance back, looking him up and down as he approached. "Are you not a Jedi?"

"Far from it."

The man turned his face away. "Then we are alike."

Torin looked at the man's belt, where a lightsaber hung, and raised an eyebrow curiously. The Twi'lek certainly looked to be a Jedi. He wore armored shin guards and gauntlets over a beige & black tunic that left his arms exposed. Black armbands were wrapped around each bicep, and his shirt was tucked into a tan sash about his waist.

"You're not a Jedi?" Torin said.

The man sighed. "I was trying to be poetic."

Torin circled around the rock to face the Twi'lek. "Who's looking for you?"

"My Master."

"And you're running from them?"

"Yes, but I know where the real problem is." The Twi'lek tapped his temple with a finger. "There is no running from this."

"Running is a perfectly viable strategy," Torin said. "I've used it to great effect."

The man shrugged. "Maybe, but one can't run from oneself." He stood up from the rock and patted it. "I've sat here long enough. You can have this."

Torin smirked. "Whatever dilemma you had, seems like you settled it awfully quickly."

The Twi'lek looked back to him as he waded through the grass. "Not one bit—but that's what teachers are for, no?"

He walked onward, growing smaller until he faded into the horizon entirely. Torin took his place on the rock and groaned, throwing his face up to the sky as if pleading for answers. But there were no whispered revelations to be revealed. Not from from the heavens, and not from the rock he had half-seriously hoped would spark in him some profound realization like it had with the Twi'lek.

Torin was tired. Not just from walking—tired of being angry, frustrated, and sad. He knew full well where his problems lie, and he knew where to look for answers. He only had to ask.

Standing up from the rock, he began the long walk back to Ziare's home. He became lost more than once and had to navigate to the Temple first to get his bearings, but eventually he was able to find the forest clearing and its white-domed house. Torin stood tall and took a deep breath in before entering the dwelling.

He passed through to the living room, calling her name but receiving no answer. Returning to the entry hallway, he knelt down before the front door, then pressed his hands and face to the floor in prostration. How much time passed he couldn't say, but the light moving across the floor beside him told him that the duration was best measured in hours. The hallway grew dark as the sun set, and still he waited.

At last the door in front of him opened, and he heard Ziare draw in a sharp breath and stumble back when she saw him kneeling before her.

"Please teach me," he said.

The insects in the forest outside were a deafening chorus, and he held his breath as he waited for the Jedi to break her silence. She leaned over and lifted him up by the arms, then looked him in the eyes.

"We'll start first thing tomorrow."

* * *

"Say it."

Vathamma stared across the room at the Togruta standing in the doorway. The Sith sat in an opulent chair behind a spacious desk, one befitting the provisional head of Imperial Intelligence. Gold jewelry adorned every fleshy tendril hanging from her jaw, and more ran under her eyes and over her forehead. She wore a dress of dark purple and black, with a gilded belt and shoulder pads.

Nomi was dressed far more conventionally, in the dark gray uniform of an enlisted member of the Imperial military. The single red ranking chit on the breast of her coat meant that she was no longer a slave, but that technical distinction hadn't done much to improve the Sith's treatment of her.

"_Say _it," the seated woman repeated, leaning forward in her chair.

"My apologies for the intrusion, _Darth Crucia."_

Vathamma sat back in her chair. "Very good. For brevity's sake, you may call me 'Mistress' when we're not in the presence of other Sith." She pointed a red finger at her servant. "But use my true name again, and I'll have to see about fitting you with a shock collar."

She shivered at the memory of the cold steel device she'd once had wrapped around the back of her neck. It had been years since she'd last felt the jolt of electricity from one, but that sort of pain never left one's memory.

"You do remember the collar, yes?"

Nomi pursed her lips and nodded slowly. The Sith knew full well that she remembered.

A buzz sounded from the door, and Vathamma looked at the security camera on her desk before opening it.

"Come in," she said.

Nomi stepped aside to make room for the young officer who bowed before entering the room.

"Excuse me, my lady." A sharply-dressed young man with neatly parted blonde hair under a starched officer's cap, he couldn't have been more than a year out of the academy. Imperial Intelligence had been gutted after the colossal failure it had made in not seeing Malgus' betrayal coming. Young officers and aliens had filled in the gaps in personnel, ironically creating the kind of multicultural institution that Malgus had sought in the first place.

"Come in," Vathamma said. The man bowed again, then approached her desk and placed a datapad in front of her.

"The preliminary salvage operations have concluded," he said, rotating the tablet to face her.

She picked it up and began scanning through the list on the handheld computer. "No sign of the Mass Shadow Generator?"

"None. Given the size of the device, it's entirely possible that it simply perished in the destruction. We'll keep digging through the wreckage, but I'd like to request that the bulk of our science teams be re-allocated."

She waved a hand, eyes still focused on the screen. "Very well. How is the casualty identification coming along?"

His eyes darted to the side, and he tugged at his collar with a gloved hand. "I took the liberty of putting a stop to that, my lady."

The Sith turned her golden eyes up from the screen.

"It seemed a waste of resources to attempt to ID _every _body—"

His words were cut short by an invisible hand wrapping around his throat. Vathamma slammed the datapad down on the desk and shot up from her chair.

"Is it the responsibility of officers to take 'liberties'?" She shouted. A few heads turned outside the office, but the men and women passing by simply picked up their pace. "Did I ask you to pinch credits?"

The man shook his head from side to side desperately, fingers clawing at his neck as his face turned beat red. Vathamma released her grip and allowed the man to catch his breath.

"What are you going to make sure gets done?" she asked him.

"Identification of all human remains," he wheezed.

She waved him out the door and he stumbled from the office. The Sith closed the door behind him, then circled back around her desk and slumped in her chair before letting her head fall onto the desk.

"Nomi," she groaned. "Rub my shoulders."

The Togruta frowned and reluctantly took up a position behind the Sith. Placing her hands on the woman's robed shoulders, she began kneading her fingers into the tight knots of her back.

Nomi did not hold out much hope for Torin's survival. Over the weeks since his disappearance she had gone from complete denial to a heavy sadness that bordered on acceptance. The universe had rewarded her with her long-lost sister, but in the same breath had taken the man she loved. Which had come first? Was the latter revenge for her asking too much of this world? Or was the former a gift, meant to ease the pain of losing Torin?

Each day she woke up with a new sense of perspective, never quite sure how she would perceive her fickle fortunes. Speaking of fickle...

She looked down at the Sith under her hands, whose head was still pressed to the desk. Nomi knew that Vathamma did not harbor any special love for her. If evidence of Torin's death were found, she would have lost her purpose to the Sith and would become useless.

That, too, Nomi accepted.


	3. Echoes And Shadows

The days passed, and Torin's training at the hands of Master Ziare progressed—as did his ability to draw upon the Force. Despite that, he felt a growing sense of unease in the week he had been awake on Tython. His days were spent in idyllic valleys and atop stunning mountain terrain, but at night he was drawn into a nightmarish dreamworld that grew more vivid each time he lived it.

He was in the courtyard he had seen so many times before, but it was not the serene garden where he had approached the Falleen girl. It was a battlefield, the grassy space cluttered with the bodies of children, their limbs twisted about unnaturally. They rolled around, screeching horribly. His head moved about as he scanned the courtyard, but he could see no attacker. As his vision shifted back ahead he saw that his arms were extended outwards in front of him, towards another young child whose feet kicked at the grass below her as her hands clawed at her throat. Torin's head turned to his right, and he saw the familiar—but much younger—face of Master Ziare rushing towards him. She gripped the sides of his head with both hands, and he awoke.

"What the hell..." he muttered, running a hand across his face only to discover that he was drenched in a cold sweat. His feet slid onto the floor as he whipped the covers off and left his bedroom, walking through the hallway into the common area. The barest hints of morning light shone in through the window, making him squint and cast his eyes downward.

"You're up early," came a voice to his left. Ziare walked out of a room beside the kitchen, and the door closed behind her.

"Ah, yeah," he muttered, pushing on either side of his chin to work out the kinks in his neck.

"Bad dream?"

Torin smiled weakly. "You could say that." He walked into the kitchen and sat down on a stool in front of the center island.

"Tell me about it," said Ziare.

"Oh, it's nothing interesting," he said.

She took a seat opposite him, and he saw that her forehead was creased in concern. "I'd like to hear."

"Well..." He looked upward, trying to recall the dream. The impression it left grew more powerful each time, but the details always seemed to slip away from him as soon as he awoke. "I'm in a garden as a little kid, looking for someone—a girl. I find her, and then the dream ends."

"That's all?" she said.

"No, there's other ones." He swallowed and looked out the window at the still forest. "I'm in the courtyard again, but I'm attacking other kids—_murdering _them, I think." He looked back to see Ziare staring at him. "And the girl is always so _furious. _I can never hear her, but I can feel her hatred."

"This girl—was she a Falleen?"

His chair scraped back against the floor. "How did you know?" he exclaimed.

She smiled at him. "You told me about the Sith you fought on Quesh—a Falleen, who forced you to burn your own face."

"Why would I dream about her?"

"An experience like that can leave a lasting impression," she said. "And dreams are not always literal."

He looked down and rubbed his palms together. "It seems so _real. _.. and there was something else."

The Jedi remained silent.

"The Falleen—the real one—she was angry at _me. _I'd never met her before in my life, but she hated me like no one else ever has."

Ziare stood up from her chair and circled around the kitchen island. "I would not give it more thought," she said, placing a hand on his back. "Dreams are for the night, and we have the entire day ahead of us."

Torin pursed his lips thoughtfully as Ziare left to prepare the materials for that day's training. He returned to his room and dressed in a brown tunic and boots, then met the Jedi outside her home.

"What a lovely day," said Ziare, walking through the woods beside him.

As Torin trod into a forest clearing he looked up. Cool white light filtered through the sparse pine canopy, illuminating the flat woodlands. The ground was still damp with rain from the previous night, and patches of mud squelched beneath his boots every few steps. A wet mist clung to the trees, unmoved by the still air. The lack of a breeze was welcome—Tython's morning were cold enough without the wind whipping him as well.

"If you say so," he replied.

She stopped and turned to him. In her hands were two practice sabers, the same kind he had seen being used by the Padawans in their sparring sessions outside the Jedi Temple. From the hilt pommel down they looked like any bladed weapon, but there was no edge. Instead, the business end of the saber was a cylindrical metal tube wrapped in copper coiling. When switched on a charge ran through the wires, delivering a shock on impact that would give a painful—but perfectly safe—imitation of a lightsaber blow.

Ziare tossed one of the sabers to him across the clearing. He caught it with his left hand and rolled the hilt around, searching for the means to activate it.

"Have you not used a practice saber before?" she said.

"Never."

She lowered her own weapon. "How did you learn to duel?"

"We used swords."

"Real blades? I'm amazed you were left with only the two scars."

He searched the hilt of his weapon until he found a button on the base, then switched it on.

"Maybe that's because I always win," he replied with a smirk.

"We'll see." She raised her saber. "Don't hold back. Come at me with everything you have."

"Everything? I don't want to brag, but I'm not bad with a blade."

"Then you should have no problem defeating this old woman."

He clicked his teeth in amusement and raised his weapon.

Torin and Ziare approached each other carefully, their blades meeting as soon as they closed the remaining gap. Birds fled from the trees around them as the first sparks flew from the electrically charged sabers. The more blows he traded with Ziare, the more he realized that he was evenly matched—possibly outmatched. His only exposure to her swordplay had been for twenty seconds aboard Dominus' ship. He'd avoided having his head taken off by the Jedi, and had treated that draw as a victory of sorts, given his lack of experience—but perhaps she had just gone easy on him, even back then.

"I told you not to hold back, didnt I?" she said casually. "Don't worry about giving me a tap or two. I can take it."

He frowned and pressed forward, changing up the pattern of his blows and becoming more wild as he tried to increase his speed. She must have seen how hard a time he was having breaching her defenses—she was toying with him.

She stopped blocking his blows, instead dodging his broad swings with an economy of movement that left him gawping in disbelief. A lean to the left, a short step back and to the right, hardly any movement at all, yet each time he would narrowly miss the Jedi who seemed more shadow than human. Ziare jabbed him in the shoulder with her saber as he thrust forward, and he pulled back with a pained grunt. The blades may have looked like toys compared to the real thing, but the jolt he received was no joke.

"It seems we'll have to start with the basics," she said with a frown as she slid across the wet ground. "Did that woman teach you nothing?"

Torin gripped his saber harder, making the wound on his palm ache. He poured all of his anger and frustration into each blow, but it didnt make a bit of difference. His swings became faster, but it was as if the woman could sense his movements even earlier as a result. Another zap struck him, this time in his right forearm. His fingers seized up and he grunted in pain as the saber rolled from his grip.

"Don't unleash the first emotion you feel," she said. "Search beneath your anger."

His right hand trembled as his jaw tightened and teeth ground together. He thrust his fingers towards Ziare and felt a current surge through his arm, picking up strength as it passed over scarred tissue that throbbed and ached. His pain fed the lightning that arced from his fingers towards Ziare, blue electricity crackling through the air towards the woman. As soon as the first sparks flew from his fingertips, she moved her saber in front of her, pointing the end towards Torin. The lightning struck the saber and traveled down through the handle, dissipating harmlessly once it met Ziare's hand.

Ziare stuck her other hand out towards him, palm down and fingers outstretched. His world turned upside down, the trees around him spinning in a dizzying whirl that sent him sprawling to the ground. The strength hadn't left his limbs, but it was like he couldn't figure out where to direct it. Up was down, left was right, and he felt as if he were falling in every direction at once. The back of his head mashed against pine needles as he slid around, struggling to right himself but only succeeding in rolling to and fro while his stomach twisted into knots.

"Your anger is cheap," Ziare said. "The shallowest source of power imaginable."

He caught a glimpse of her standing beside him as he rolled over on his back and stopped trying to stand.

"I ask you to look within yourself, and you come at me with frustration. _Children _can project anger."

Ziare let her hand fall to her side, and lay there with his mouth hung slightly open and eyes wide as the sky above gradually stopped spinning. Unsure of what his reaction would be, the Jedi stepped back as Torin lifted his torso up from the ground, then steadied his head that still bobbed and weaved dizzily.

"I should tell you this before we go any further." He threw his arms up onto his knees and avoided her gaze. "I'm broken."

She frowned in concern. "No one is _broken, _Torin. Least of all you."

"People talk about feeling the Force flowing through them... I've never felt that—not once. Anger is all I've got."

"That's because you've never been properly taught to connect with the Force," she said. "But it is within you, and always has been. You will see that." She offered a hand to him and pulled him to his feet.

Torin pulled a pine needle out of his hair. "I'd like to believe you."

"I may ask you to take the occasional thing on faith, but only temporarily." She began to walk past him, headed towards a gradual slope in the woods. "You can't feel the Force, but you can at least run, right?"

He looked at her oddly. "Sure, I can run."

"Good."

Air and sound blasted him, a _boom _echoing in the forest as Ziare disappeared. He lowered the arm he had instinctively raised to shield his face, whipping his head left and right before catching a glimpse of the Jedi moving at absurd speed towards the foothills off in the distance.

"Hey!" He took off running after her, though she had already disappeared from sight. As he ran he noticed footprints in the soggy ground, and followed them until he reached a dusty trail that cut a curving path up a towering granite mountain. There was no mistaking where she had gone, so he followed, jogging up the slope and moving at a fraction of Ziare's speed. Before he knew it he was well above the treetops, circling around a peak that grew narrower at a frightening pace, as if the ground were in danger of disappearing from beneath him should he ascend any higher.

By the time he reached the top of the mountain, his heart was racing a mile a minute and his chest heaved with labored breaths. He'd never run so far so fast in his life. Ziare stood at the edge of a cliff, wind rippling the sleeves of her tunic and her baggy pants legs. She had one foot propped up on a rock, and leaned on her knee with both hands as she stared off towards the Jedi Temple below.

"Do you know what the most powerful emotion in the galaxy is?" she said, back still turned to him.

He trod towards her and leaned over, resting his hands on his thighs while he caught his breath. "Love?"

"Regret," she said, idly scanning the hilly horizon. "Nothing is as powerful as regret."

Torin stood up straight, walking the rest of the way until he was a short distance behind her. "I guess I've never thought of _regret _as an emotion."

Ziare nodded. "Nothing is as poisonous to the soul. Anger can grip your heart and make you lash out at the ones you love, but only regret can twist happy memories of them into something painful."

He sat down on a boulder a few feet away from her, his back turned to the cliff. "What am I supposed to do? Just forget what I did?"

She shook her head. "I'm not asking you to forget. I'm not even asking you not to regret."

He eyed her curiously.

"Turn the regret that drives you into a positive force." She smiled down at him. "And someday, the universe might give you a second chance."

"A second chance to do what?"

"To do better," she said.

Torin looked away and furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure what that would be."

Ziare put her foot back down on the ground and turned to him, then clasped her hands behind her back. "What would you do differently? If you could go back in time."

"I thought I was supposed to stop living in the past."

"Indulge me," she said.

He thought for a moment. "I could've fought my Mast—Vathaama better. If I could've gotten to the fleet controls—"

Ziare leaned towards him. "There's nothing you would've done before that?"

Closing his eyes, he thought back over the past few months and sighed. "I should've seen it coming."

"You wanted to see the best in her."

He laughed and opened his eyes. "I wish it was something that noble. No, I just liked how she made me feel."

Ziare studied him. "How she made you feel?"

"Imagine you're growing up on a farm where the biggest surprise is an especially good or bad crop. All your life you feel like you were meant for something greater. You tell yourself everyone feels that way occasionally, and you ignore it." The Jedi remained silent, and he looked around the barren mountain top as he searched for the right words. "Then someone comes along and tells you that you _are _special. Sure, she beats you and yells at you, but she teaches you, too." As he spoke, a smile crept across his face. "And after awhile you forget about what kind of person she is.

Ziare sat down beside him on the rock.

"Did she make you think that she loved you?"

"She _did _love me," he snapped.

The Jedi pushed gently on his scarred back. "Someone who loves you could not have done this." She withdrew her hand and gripped his right wrist, turning his arm over to reveal the scar covering most of his palm. "Or this."

He rolled his hand back over and pressed it to his knee.

"And I killed her," he shot back. "Are you going to tell me _I _didn't love _her?"_

Ziare eyebrows rose, and Torin pulled away.

"I mean—Not that I—" He leaned on his knees and stood up from the rock. "I don't know why I'm even thinking about this now."

"You said it yourself. You loved how she made you feel. As for her feelings for you..." Ziare rose to her feet. "Those ended where her personal ambitions began."

Torin closed his eyes and frowned as he moved away from Ziare. "I'm done talking about this," he said.

She held her hands behind her back and followed. "Very well," she said, assuming a position in front of him as they walked. They took a different path down the mountain than the one they had ascended, and as they walked Torin spotted dozens of caves in the sloping mountainside. Huge, rounded boulders sat near many of the openings, like doors waiting to be closed.

"Whats with the caves?" he said.

"Those are used for meditation."

"Really?" He wrinkled his face. "I've never heard of that."

"It is not something the Sith practice. The undertaking is called Tun'Moc, and involves _days _of contemplation."

"They shut themselves up in the dark for _days?"_

"Seven, to be precise. Left alone with their thoughts, a Jedi is forced to confront the darkest parts of themselves. They see every flaw, every unwanted memory."

"And the Sith don't practice it because they're all about external power?"

She shook her head. "No, the Sith are no strangers to contemplative practice... but the goal is different."

They passed by an open cave, and Torin squinted through the darkness to see a stone slab hewn into a crude bed.

"Sith meditate on their negative emotions to inflame them," she continued. "Jedi seek to come to a final reckoning with their shadow, and in doing so triumph over it." Ziare looked at him until he met her gaze. "To embrace the Dark Side is to become a slave—not a master."

Torin looked to the ground and nodded as they walked. Her words may have been wise, but putting them into practice was another matter entirely. It was difficult not to give in to anger and fear in the heat of the moment when it seized his entire being. "You said my anger was shallow," Torin said. "But Sith Lords become as powerful as Jedi."

He expected some doctrinarian response from the Jedi, but instead the woman simply pressed her lips together and looked up thoughtfully. "Have you ever _seen _someone who has completely given themselves over to the Dark Side?"

"I suppose not," he replied.

"Their bodies fall apart, and the souls contained within become twisted. Immense power may emanate from them, but they do not control it. Eventually, they are consumed by that power—like a forest fire raged out of control."

Torin recalled the hollow, sunken face of Lord Andar aboard the Sith's vessel; the result of spending months so close to the dark energies of Malachor V.

"Does Tun'Moc ever go wrong?" He looked up at one of the opening on a path further up the hill.

"It very easily can. That's why only seasoned Masters are permitted to undergo the ordeal—and even then, only if they so choose."

"Have you ever done it?"

"I have."

"Did you become one with the Force?" he asked her, only half-jokingly.

"No, I saw that I already was one with it." She stopped and tapped him on the chest. "As are you—as is everyone."

* * *

"There had better be a good reason for you to bother me at work," Vathamma said. Beside her walked Maliss, trailing the Sith as they entered the main hall of Imperial Intelligence on Dromund Kaas. Red and black banners bearing the Imperial emblem hung from the walls, giving the space the air of a king's court—or a queen's.

"I want that blanket pardon," Maliss said. She was still technically wanted for fleeing her court martial after her time in Imperial military.

"You haven't been arrested, isnt that good enough?" the Sith said.

The Mandalorian frowned. "I don't want to be lookin' over my shoulder every time I leave the Mandalorian enclave."

Vathamma rolled her eyes. "Fine. You'll get your pardon, you vulture. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. I need work."

"Unfortunately for you, I _don't _need intoxicated maniacs." She waved the mercenary towards the front of the hall. "Now go, before I rethink our agreement." As she watched Maliss leave, the Sith saw another familiar figure walking through the halls. "Not now," Vathamma muttered. She shuffled off to the side to duck into a corridor, but she was too late.

"Darth Crucia!" came a shout from the approaching woman. Vathamma stopped and did a double-take, scanning the hallway before smiling at the newcomer as if she had just spotted her. The woman was human, with fair skin and a blonde bob cut. She wore a green tunic with a cloak that hung just above the ground, adding to her small silhouette and making her seem larger than she truly was.

"Advisor Beniko!" Vathamma greeted her with feigned enthusiasm, walking back down the hallway to meet her. "Three visits in as many days. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've come at the request of Darth Arkous." Her words, like her stone-faced expression, were to the point and without unnecessary flourishes, and her yellow eyes met Vathamma's without a hint of unease.

"Another intelligence sharing request?" Vathamma said, her facade of pleasantry cracking. "It would be much easier for all involved if you used the _established _channels—"

Beniko held up a hand to interrupt her, and Vathamma frowned. Technically she outranked the human woman, who was a mere advisor to the sphere of Military Offense. In practice, however, she was the voice and right hand of that sphere's head, Darth Arkous—a man with more connections and deeper influence than Vathamma. Her appointment as provisional head of Military Intelligence was tenuous. If she wanted to keep it, she needed to stay in the good graces of men like him.

"This is a sensitive manner," Beniko said, looking around the hall. "We should speak somewhere more private."

The other woman gestured down the corridor. "My office, then."

They continued through the hall and several security stations, then passed through a busy command center teeming with uniformed intelligence operatives. The two Sith entered Vathamma's office, and sat down on opposite sides of her desk as the door closed behind them.

Vathamma steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair. "What does Darth Arkous require of me?"

"For you to reallocate every available resource—" Lana stood up and leaned over the desk, then used the built-in computer in front of Vathamma to bring up a holographic display of a planet. Temperate and mountainous with few bodies of water, it rotated slowly in between the two women. "—and direct it towards Tython."

Vathamma studied the unfamiliar planet. "And what is on Tython?"

"The Jedi Temple."

She shot forward in her chair, swallowing hard as she gathered her thoughts. "You're sure of this? Where did you get your intelligence?"

"Darth Arkous himself," Beniko said. "From sources he wouldn't divulge."

Locating the Jedi Temple was a massive intelligence coup, Vathamma thought. The kind _she _needed if the Dark Council were going to make her temporary Directorship a permanent appointment. For the Military to make such a discovery on their own was nothing short of embarrassing for Imperial Intelligence.

"Of course," Vathamma said. "This will be a priority."

"_Every _resource," Beniko repeated. "That includes the personnel you've dedicated to sorting through the wreckage of Malgus' station."

"This is a huge discovery, of course—" She glanced to the planet. "—but finding the Mass Shadow Generator—"

The advisor held up her hand again, drawing an angry glare from the Sith.

"According to the reports of your own Officers, there is no sign of the weapon. In fact, it seems you've repurposed most of the teams towards identifying casualties. Such tasks are a luxury that Imperial Intelligence can't afford to indulge. "

Vathamma sat back down without saying a word. Beniko met her narrowed eyes with a calm stare and clasped her hands behind her back.

"I need to know that we're all on the same page," she said.

The seated Sith drew a sharp breath in through her nose. "Yes. Tython is a priority," she said with a scowl on her face.

Beniko nodded in satisfaction, then turned and left the office. Vathamma waited a few moments before whipping her hand across the desk, using the Force to throw a cup of tea at the door. The mug shattered against it, bits of porcelain and liquid splattering to the floor.

"Bitch," she muttered.

* * *

Elsewhere in the complex that housed Imperial Intelligence, Maliss had returned to the Mandalorian Enclave. Half-embassy and half-proving ground, it frequently hosted the warrior clans who traveled to Dromund Kaas to train and plan alongside their Imperial counterparts. The mercenary's ties to Clan Vizla were tenuous at best, but the part she had played in stopping Darth Malgus was enough to earn her a temporary dwelling in the Enclave. Despite being among other Mandalorians for the first time in years, she didn't feel at home at all. For her, home was the warmth of thermal detonations and the screech of sub-orbital craft. Every moment she was away from that, she felt herself falling deeper into stagnation.

The door to her bedroom opened and she stepped inside. The furnishings were basic, which suited her just fine—but the room seemed to shrink every time she returned to it. Rain splattered against a bedside window to her left, giving a dreary and unenviable view of Kaas City. Whispers filled her head as she walked across the room, becoming a senseless blur that drowned out the sound of rain and the murmur of voices in the embassy rooms below her.

She stopped just short of her wall closet and dug her fingers into the paneled wall beside it, working her fingernails along the section until she was able to pry the panel off. She reached into the exposed space and pulled out a holocron, gingerly taking the pyramid in both hands as she stepped back from the wall and the whispers stopped.

Sneaking the relic from Kaas Starport to the Mandalorian Enclave had been one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of her life. The penalty for smuggling Sith artifacts was death, and not even Vathamma's intervention would have saved her if she were discovered—not that the Sith woman would have bothered intervening. The strange relic had chattered in her ear the entire time it sat in the satchel slung about her waist, a deafening roar that only she could seem to hear.

Maliss set the small pyramid down on a low table in the middle of her room and knelt in front of it, then ran her hands around the computerized surface. The silvered cap turned slightly as she searched for any distinguishing features, and she returned her fingers to the bit of metal and twisted it. The computer inside the relic whirred to life, and the sides of the metal cap slid down as the object projected a hologram overhead.

An elderly woman in a dark brown robe hovered over the table. Only the bottom half of her weathered face was visible beneath her cowl, and two braids of grayed hair hung down her chest, stopping well short of the fingertips she pressed together in front of her navel.

"My name is Darth Traya," the woman said. Despite her Sith title, she sounded more like the curator of some Jedi library. "I have no grand secrets or techniques to reveal. This holocron was constructed to convey one simple truth."

Maliss shifted uneasily on her knees and glanced at the sealed door to her right.

"The Force, like any living thing, has a will of its own—know this, or risk becoming its slave."

Rain pattered against the window, and Maliss leaned in towards the hologram that had grown silent.

"Tell me more."


	4. Over The Edge

Three weeks came and went, and Torin's desire to leave Tython only increased. Not that he was in a hurry to get away from the woman he'd come to call Master. Under her tutelage, his skill with the Force progressed at a pace that astonished him, as if he were discovering forgotten skills rather than learning new ones. Along with those skills came horrific nightmares that seemed more memory than dream, visions of violence and carnage with him as the perpetrator. He felt as if his growth was linked to those dreams, but he was reluctant to broach the matter with Ziare again, after she had brushed him off the first time. Maybe it _was _all in his head. Maybe he just needed to get away from Tython and its isolation, even if only for a few days.

"You look rather excited," said Ziare from the pilot's chair. Torin leaned over behind her, peering out the shuttle's window as they left Tython's atmosphere.

"It'll be nice to do things besides meditate and levitate rocks—and talk to people other than you." He looked down to see her looking at him. "Not that you're bad company!" he added quickly. She hadn't explicitly kept him from the Jedi Temple, but Ziare kept him so busy that he didn't have any opportunity to mingle with the other students. Beyond a few short sojourns for necessities, he had hardly spent any time there. Normally he would've thought she were somehow ashamed of him, but the fact that she spent every waking moment watching and training him made him dismiss that idea.

"You may find Makeb to be a rather poor vacation spot, if that is what you're imagining."

"Makeb? That's in Hutt Space." Ziare remained silent, and he leaned past the side of her chair to look at her. "The Jedi Council is okay with you going there?" He wasn't up to date on the intricacies of galactic politics, but he understood enough to know that even in wartime—_especially _in wartime—a Jedi conducting business on neutral territory wasn't something to be done lightly.

"They don't know," she replied. "Only you do."

For a week he had tried to pry the details out of her, but she had refused to say a word. Now he knew why. "What will we be doing there?"

"Humanitarian work."

His lips twisted in doubt. "Humanitarian work?"

"Of a sort." She set the ship on autopilot and sat back as they made the jump to hyperspace. Torin grabbed onto her seat for the slightest bit of support, but otherwise was hardly affected by the jump. The first time he'd made one months ago, he'd nearly fallen onto his back. "There's a scientist on Makeb who has petitioned us for rescue—we're going to be retrieving him."

"He can't leave on his own?"

"Not with the planet caught between the Republic and Empire. His employers, the Hutt Cartel, are rather reluctant to let him go."

"So why the secrecy?" he said. "Why risk going against the council to save one scientist?"

She stood up and took his wrists in both hands. "Do you trust me?"

He looked into her warm eyes, and any hesitation vanished. "Yeah." After everything he'd been through, he knew he shouldn't have been so quick to trust, but the three weeks he'd known her had felt like a lifetime.

"I told you before that I may ask you to take what I say on faith, but only for a time—I still promise that."

"Alright." He gave her a half smile. "At first I thought this would be some sort of test. Now I know why you brought me along—there's no one else you could ask."

"No, that's not it at all." She reached up to his face and brushed aside a lock of hair. "There is no one else I'd rather have by my side."

His body relaxed at her touch, warm fingertips dissolving a tension that had gripped him without him knowing it was there—until it was gone. The faint wrinkles in the corners of her eyes creased as she blinked, steely irises flickering from left to right while she swept his hair from his forehead. Her hand fell away and Torin leaned in, keeping his eyes on hers as he waited for her to pull back. She didn't, and he closed his eyes as their lips met. After a moment of silence, he withdrew from the kiss to see Ziare staring at him in shock.

"What are you doing?" she said. In only a moment, tenderness had turned to shock.

"I thought—" His words trailed off, and he watched as the bewilderment on the woman's face hardened into stern disapproval.

"I'm your teacher," she said, letting his hand drop from her grip. "That's all."

He swallowed and nodded. "I know."

Ziare sat back down in the captain's chair and busied herself studying the course she had plotted on the navigational computer. "I fear that Sith may have twisted your idea of what an Apprentice's relationship with their Master should look like."

Never in his life had he misjudged a situation so badly. Ziare refused to meet his eyes, and he quietly retreated to the rear of the ship to lay down on a wall-mounted cot in one of the two bedrooms. The one real relationship left to him in the entire galaxy, and he'd nearly taken a knife to that lifeline.

In the cockpit, Ziare cocked her head back to see that Torin had left before letting out a heavy sigh and resting her head back against the chair. She had sought to establish a clear boundary, but feared that line in the sand may have become a wedge driven between the two. She trod a razor's edge in her handling of him, and a single misstep could send him hurtling over the edge. Those thoughts were pushed down deep as she closed her eyes and entered a state somewhere between meditation and sleep. The ship continued to hum all around her while she rested her body and mind in trance, passing the hours it would take to reach Makeb.

Her eyes shot open as a sharp whine pierced the veil of her trance, as if the entire cruiser were screaming. Outside she saw the stars spinning from one end of the bay window to the other. They were no longer in hyperspace—something had thrown them out of it. A series of metal _clangs _behind her had the Jedi running to the back of the ship, looking for the source of the noise. Torin lay in his bed, twisting every which way in a fitful sleep. He rolled to one side, clenching his jaw and throwing a blast of Force at the open doorway that nearly struck Ziare. The pulse of air hit the wall just outside the bedroom, crumpling in a metal panel. Ziare ducked into the room and grabbed Torin by the shoulders, then shook him.

"Wake up!" she shouted.

His eyes shot open and he looked to Ziare, then sat up in bed and rubbed the side of his head. "Gods..." he muttered, still pulling himself out of whatever dream world he'd been dragged into, unaware of what he'd been doing to the ship while he dreamt.

"Are you still having the nightmares?" He murmured an acknowledgement, and she leaned in close. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You said not to worry about it." He swung his feet out of bed and hung his head in his hands. "I thought getting away from Tython would help." Both hands rubbed in circles on either side of his head, as if he could massage whatever afflicted him right out of his skull. "It seems real, then I wake up and it's a dream, then I go back to sleep and its real again." He walked across the room and leaned his head and forearm against the wall. "It's every night now—I think I'm going crazy."

She pried him off of the wall and turned him around. "You are _not _crazy." Her fingertips touched his temples, and electricity seemed to shoot from one hand to the other, grabbing ahold of his brain on the circuitous root it took through his skull.

The aged woman in front of him disappeared, replaced by the youthful countenance of a much younger Ziare staring down at him beneath a tree that shed leaves and flower petals alike. Memory after memory flooded in, like a dam in his mind had been breached. Ziare kneeling in front of him in the entryway of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Him, letting go of his parents' hands and taking hers. Trying, failing, learning, succeeding. Then, the last memory slotted into place. Him, choking the life from another young student as Ziare rushed towards him and grasped his head in her hands.

His mouth hung open as Ziare withdrew her touch. "I remember." His astonishment quickly turned to horror as he realized that his dreams were not feverish fantasies. "I killed those kids."

"No!" She grabbed him by the shoulders. "You did not kill anyone. I got to you before that could happen."

Tears welled in his eyes. "Then what happened? Why am I not a Jedi? Why didn't I remember any of this?"

"After you awoke, you were catatonic. We could hardly get you to say a word, and the Force..." Fingers dug into his shoulder, and she took an uneasy breath in. "You had cut yourself off from it. Not just the Force, but your memories of what you did—of what that girl _made _you do."

Her hands slipped from his shoulders and she looked down at the ground, clenching her fists as tears rolled down her cheeks and fell to the floor. "So they sent you home. We gave up on you. _I _gave up on you."

Torin stared in shock as Ziare stood silent before him, save the sound of her ragged breaths. Her entire body trembled and her shoulders were hunched up to her ears, as if she were preparing for some deserved blow to meet her. Torin's mind was a mess—he wanted to lay down and storm about, all at once. He was angry, confused, and betrayed. But as he watched Ziare, he saw a woman who had punished herself for a decade, for a crime that wasn't even her own.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry."

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. The side of her head leaned into his own, and her body relaxed as if she were melting in his grasp.

A sigh, like a breeze, went past his ear, and he felt wetness on his cheek. "When I recognized you on Dominus' ship, I knew the galaxy had given me my second chance."

Now he knew why she'd reacted so strongly to his clumsy attempt at romance. To her, he was still that eleven-year old child who had left her behind on Coruscant.

"Why can't I remember more?" He pulled back from their embrace. "All I remember is... you."

She wiped her face dry and looked at him with eyes that suddenly showed the weight of her forty-odd years. "Our contact showed you the memories I share with you. Any more will require a different approach."

"There's a way I can remember the rest?"

"It's dangerous." She stressed each word carefully, as if warning a small child. "There is a reason I kept this secret from you."

The worry she showed was palpable, and he felt a need to reassure her. "Alright. I'll take it slow."

Her eyelids lowered and she breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to leave the room. "I hope you sleep better now," she said back to him. It seemed an odd note to leave the conversation on, and his remaining questions were endless. Most of all, he wanted to ask her about the Falleen girl—Isatryn. But one look at the exhausted woman's back had him saving those questions for another day. He'd seen her move at speeds that defied the laws of physics, yet she looked more tired now than he'd ever seen. Deciding to follow her lead, he lay down in his own bed and closed his eyes. The ship shuddered as it re-entered hyperspace, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

By late next morning, their ship had reached Makeb. From orbit it looked like any other habitable planet, an oceanic surface dotted with dozens of separate continents. As they descended into the atmosphere, however, Torin saw that the singular land masses were in fact disparate mesas and plateaus, separated from each other by vast gulfs of open air. Cities, towns, and individual homesteads filled the islands, very few of them connected by bridges. Cruisers sailed from island to island, and among the varied transports he spotted a few Thrantas—manta ray-like creatures that flew on fleshy wings, large enough to carry one or two people on their saddled backs.

They left the smattering of settlements behind and flew into what could generously be called Makeb's countryside. Untamed flora covered the plateaus, and still more hung down from them in the form of thick vines that fed on the mists wet mists clinging to the mesas. Reptilian-looking hounds scaled sheer cliffs with unnatural ease to hunt birds nesting on precarious outcroppings, showcasing an ecosystem that had adapted to the planet's bizarre verticality with just as much elegance as the humans who called it home.

Several white domes came into view, and Torin realized that they capped a single home—or rather, a single palace. Multiple tiers of terraced stone were built up on a spacious plateau, surrounded by lush gardens that wreathed statuesque fountains. Figures moved around the exterior of the manor, and as their ship lowered down onto a launchpad jutting out from the mesa, he saw that they were heavily armed and armored.

"Guards?" he said to Ziare as she set them down on the launchpad.

"Yes, but not to keep us out—rather, to keep our scientist from leaving."

"And that's not going to be a problem?"

"I can be very persuasive." Torin had an inkling of what she meant, but it did little to soothe his doubts. He knew firsthand that persuasion through the Force was a fickle tool—especially when it came to large numbers of people.

They left the ship and walked through gardens and around shallow pools of crystal water, then ascended a mighty flight of stairs. The scientist's guards must have been expecting Ziare, as none made an attempt to interact with either of them, let alone stop them. They opened the doors to the main building and allowed the Jedi and her Apprentice to enter.

Torin squinted as his eyes adjusted to the indoor lighting, and he gradually took in his new surroundings. The hall was as palatious as the exterior, and with its pillars and colorful banners reminded him of the Hutt's palace on Quesh. As his eyes moved further down the hall, he realized why. An enormous Hutt sat on a platform, flanked by two droids twice his height. They stood on six legs and loomed like giant praying mantises above Torin and Ziare as they approached. the Hutt himself was a mottled purple, and a wore a visor over one eye. His attention flickered back and forth from the viewscreen to his visitors, until turning totally to the latter.

"You said _humanitarian _work," Torin hissed to his Master. "That's not a human."

"Even Hutts deserve your compassion," she whispered back. He wasn't so sure.

"Master Ziare," he said. Or _she, _rather? As the Hutt spoke his garbled language, a translator droid hovering beside him spoke in Basic, using a feminine voice that sounded bizarre when paired with the enormous slug doing the talking. Torin wasn't sure if Hutts differentiated into separate genders; it was preferable to not think of the slugs as sexual beings at all.

Ziare scanned the room, noting the lack of guards. The sentient ones outside she would have to deal with, but the droids were likely controlled by the Hutt himself.

"Obossa." She bowed slightly. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Not quite yet," he replied. Several droids not unlike the spherical translator droid zoomed out from behind the Hutt and took up positions around Torin and Ziare faster than they could react. Shallow holes on the robots flickered a blue light, and the pair of guests were encased in fields of overlapping energy that quickly coalesced into cylindrical barriers around each of them. Torin shoved on the barrier with the Force, but the blast simply rippled the barrier harmlessly and sent most of the energy right back at him, slamming him against the rear of the tube. Tens of guards rushed in from side corridors and filled the halls, the same men he had seen waiting outside.

"Is this how you negotiate?" said Ziare calmly, as if she had expected this. "We had a deal."

"We _did _have a deal," said Obossa. "But my split with Toborro has forced me to become a businessman as well as a researcher."

Ziare looked down her nose at the Hutt. "You want credits?"

"You could never afford what the Sith Empire has offered me—for my research, and for the Jedi standing in my home."

"I see. There is no changing your mind, then?"

The Hutt's fat body quaked with laughter. "We are past negotiation."

Ziare closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, then opened them and tapped the force cage with a finger, sending ripples through the energy field. "These are blaster proof, yes?"

"Of course," said the Hutt. "They're impenetrable."

She flashed a smile at Torin. "Sit tight." With those words she was gone, vanished in a puff of purple smoke and blue lightning that disappeared a split-second after the woman herself. A thunderous noise followed, shaking the room as she re-appeared atop one of the spider droids flanking Obossa. She thrust her double-sided green saber through the head of the droid, and it collapsed to the floor in a flurry of sparks and shredded circuitry.

The room went into chaos, the Hutt swiveling his head around on his dais and shouting at his guards to shoot the woman who was dancing about the room like a shadow, appearing from thin air to cut down a guard or two before fading back into non-existence. The second spider droid dropped, it's head crashing down on the cage controls in front of the Hutt. The force field in front of Torin disappeared, and he rushed at one of the guards trying to line up a shot on his fast-moving Master. He used the Force to throw the man into three of his fellow guards, sending all four sliding across the smooth marble floor. As they pushed themselves to their feet with the barrels of their rifles Ziare appeared overhead, dropping in the midst of the group and cutting a single wide arc with her saber that dropped them back to the floor—this time, permanently.

Torin spun on his feet in a frenzy, looking for any more guards or droids, but there were none. The room was quiet, save the two droids that still sparked and whined in protest beside the Hutt. Obossa himself was slouched over, his thick tongue hanging out one side of his mouth and his eyes closed. A single blaster hole smoldered in what one might call the Hutt's neck—a stray shot from one of his own panicked guards.

"This is... unfortunate." Ziare walked towards the Hutt, and Torin followed. A sound came from behind a door to the Hutt's right, the _zap _of electricity and the clang of metal smashing to bits. The pair looked at eachother, then rushed towards the source of the noise.

They opened the door to find a small server room, lined up with racks of computers and tangles of wires running from floor to ceiling. Flitting about the room in a flurry was a green Twi'lek—she couldn't have been out of her teens—who stabbed at the computers with an electrical baton, sending a surge of current through the sensitive electronics that shorted them out with a harsh electronic whine.

"Stop her!" shouted Ziare, who then used the Force to yank the prod from the Twi'leks grip. Torin hesitated for a moment before running to the girl and wrapping his arms around her, making her drop the server she was preparing to smash to the floor.

"Ko'ado ichando!" the girl shouted, kicking and screaming in his grip.

"Calm down!" Torin shouted, attempting to use the Force to soothe her to no avail. "Do you know Twi'lek?" he said to Ziare, turning to her while he kept the girl in a tight hug.

The Jedi was picking through the trashed computers, a disappointed look on her face. "No," she said with a sigh. "Keep ahold of her. We'll take her to Avesta plantation—it isn't far from here."

As Ziare spoke, the Twi'lek swung one foot high in the air before bringing it back hard, striking Torin in the groin. He swore and let the girl go to bring his hands to his crotch while he fell to his knees. Taking the opportunity to escape, she fled into the main chamber and slid to a stop when she saw the corpses littering the room, including the Hutt slumped over to her right.

She ran to a group of bodies and picked a blaster up off the ground, holding it awkwardly with both hands and pointing it at the door. When Torin and Ziare came out of the room she fired a shot off, and Torin raised his hand just in time to freeze the red bolt of plasma in mid air. Shock and awe spread across her face, and the blaster clattered to the floor as she turned to run out the front door of the palace. The other two gave chase, catching sight of her barrelling down a flight of stairs outside and slipping into a maze of hedges. Torin followed, shoving his way through walls of shrubs that tore at his clothes and raked his skin.

"Stop!" he shouted, but the girl continued to beat a path straight through the maze. Even if she could understand him, he doubted she would have listened to his commands.

"Polanda nee!" she shouted back. Torin guessed it was some ruder variant of 'go away'. The girl turned her head back forward to slip through another barrier, and soon afterwards let out a high-pitched scream. Torin slowed down, peering through the bushes to see her sliding down a near-vertical cliff face, grasping desperately at every bit of rock and vine she could lay hands on. Before he could talk himseld out of it he leapt off after her, gaining quite a bit of air before his buttocks slammed into the rock.

Blasts of force shot out of both hands, upending him and sending him careening head first down the slope at tremendous speed. As he gained on the girl he saw another precipice approaching, this one a bottomless drop to the misty surface miles below the mesa. He reached out a hand and grabbed onto the girl with the Force, and with the other lashed upwards towards whatever he could find to hold onto. A thick vine dozens of feet above went taut as he grabbed onto it with the Force, and both he and the girl froze in place. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the fingers of his left hand inward and brought the girl towards him. Her body was paralyzed with fear, but her head swiveled about in an attempt to understand what was happening to her. Torin's right hand felt as if he had dunked it in molten steel, damaged muscles and delicate tendons screaming at him to let go. As soon as the girl reached him she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist, nearly squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Don't let go," he said—not that he expected her to. With a quick spin of his body he grabbed onto the vine above them with his left hand, and breathed a sigh of relief as he let go with his right. Far above them, Ziare had found the pair and began levitating them upwards, Torin aiding her with his own pulling motion on whatever sturdy-looking hold he could find on his way up. At last they crested the edge, and stepped back into the garden through the same hole they had made in the hedges on their way out. Torin wobbled on his feet uneasily, feeling the weight of a hundred and twenty pounds of Twi'lek latched onto his back.

"You can let go now," he said. The girl simply stared off into space with eyes like moons. Ziare gently pried her arms off of his throat, and the Twi'lek absent-mindedly allowed herself to be set down on the ground.

"Let's get her to the ship while she's still agreeable," said the Jedi. Torin nodded and walked behind the girl, guiding her by the shoulders out of the maze. They walked up the ship's ramp and sat her down in the cargo bay just before the bridge, Torin taking a seat nearby while Ziare went to the cockpit. The girl was fast recovering her senses, and scanned her surroundings with intelligent eyes. She wore a baggy mesh shirt without sleeves, and black armbands around her upper arms. Similar bands were wrapped around the thick tentacles growing from atop her head, the purple lekku speckled with black dots—like freckles.

Her attention turned to Torin and he tensed up. The girl looked like she was going to either attack him, or run again. The ship lurched as they rose into the air, and she steadied herself on the bench while looking around frantically.

Torin waved to get her attention, then patted himself on the chest. "Torin" The girl glared at him, apparently unwilling to give him so much as a name. "Family?" he said, enunciating each syllable carefully. Surely she knew a few words of Basic, he thought.

Still silence.

He held up one hand reassuringly, and with the other picked up a datapad beside him. After a few moments of use he turned it to her, showing a picture of four random Twi'leks he had found on the holonet. He pointed at each one except the young girl. "Family?" he said again.

She frowned and slapped at her chest. "Ayahe."

Torin wrinkled his lips and sat back for a moment before pointing at the young girl on the datapad. "Ayahe?"

She gave a grudging nod. He shook his head and pointed again to the other three Twi'leks. "Ayahe _family."_

Ayahe let out an annoyed grunt, then grabbed the datapad and began tapping away. Torin moved to take it from her, but she flashed the screen back at him. A picture of Obossa was displayed beside a research article the Hutt had published. She tapped the picture furiously, then shoved the pad into his hands before sitting back and folding her arms. Torin's stomach sunk, and he wondered how literally she was interpreting his question. He prayed that they had merely gotten her owner killed, and not a surrogate parent.

Ziare brought them to Avesta Plantation, a manor-turned-camp where refugee aid was centralized in an effort to make it possible for families separated by war to meet up again. Torin sat with the girl while Ziare left to meet with Makeb officials; she returned a short while later.

"There are no records of her as a citizen of Makeb," she said. "It is likely that she was brought here as a servant when the Hutts invaded."

"What can we do?" he said. There were millions of refugees seeking safe passage off of Makeb, but he felt particularly responsible for this one given what had happened to the Hutt. He turned to Ayahe and showed her a galactic map, then circled his finger about as if offering her a choice. She pushed the datapad back and shrugged animatedly, then shoved her hands under her armpits and resumed pouting.

Ziare put a hand on his shoulder as he knelt before the young girl. "Tython has a settlement of Twi'lek refugees. I can think of nowhere better, for the time being."

* * *

The apartment Vathamma had procured for herself on Dromund Kaas was far newer than her home on Balmorra, but also far smaller, being located in the heart of the Imperial capital. Money was no object to her given her position, but space was at a premium so close to the Sith Citadel and her workplace. Homes there simply did not come larger than a penthouse apartment.

The lack of space meant that most of her trophies and artifacts had gone to storage, or were donated to Imperial museums around the city. Lord Andar had not gone to the trouble of stripping her Balmorran home bare when he had seized her assets, so she had been able to transfer her most favored pieces onto the walls of her new abode. It was just as dark as the towering spires of Kaas City itself, with sleek gray walls and floors that seemed to catch the light. Windows ran along the east side of every room with an outward view, and were pelted by the rain that hung over the city more often than not.

A red-skinned Togruta in a sleeveless black servant's gown waited in the common room between the lounge and the apartment's main bedroom. Like her sister, she had white circles around her eyes giving her a look of permanent surprise, and a fleshy headdress of blue-and-white—two tentacles hanging over her shoulders, and two short horns sticking out from atop her head. She rushed towards Vathamma as soon as the lift doors to the apartment opened, her eyes wide with urgency. She reached out to take the Sith's heavy black overcoat in her hands, but Vathamma dropped the wet robe to the tiled floor before she could take it.

"Wipe that up," Vathamma said.

The Togruta knelt down to pick up the soaking-wet coat. "Yes mistress!" she replied, then hurried to the kitchen for a towel. Vathamma had taken Jula as a slave shortly after their rescue by Imperial Forces, and after the alien girl's debriefing by intelligence officials. She knew nothing about Malgus' operations or remaining moles, of course—the girl was an idiot. Nomi was less than pleased with the position her sister had been forced into, but at least was able to have regular contact with her. she also knew as well as Vathamma did that Jula could easily have been charged with treason. The only reason Vathamma had intervened was to have someone on hand with whom to keep Nomi in line, and by extension, Torin when he returned—and he would. Vathamma knew he would.

Vathamma sat down on a curved velvet couch in the lounge room and looked out the window to her right before shouting impatiently for the alien rushing from kitchen to entryway. "Wine!" A few moments later, Jula returned with a stemmed glass of dark red drink. Vathamma triggered the shock collar around her neck, and the girl fell to the ground with a cry. Wine splashed all over the rug in front of Vathamma, staining the geometric designs a violet shade of crimson.

The Sith leaned forward in her seat and clicked her teeth. "I lose my Apprentice, and in exchange receive a clumsy girl who can't even carry a glass." She turned off the collar, allowing Jula to stumble to her feet. "Does that seem fair to you?"

Jula stared at the ground. "No, mistress."

Vathamma ran her eyes up and down the girl's body. "Come closer." Jula took a step forward, and stood quietly while a firm hand ran up her hip to the the side of her breast. "You look just like your sister... it's a pity I don't want two of her." The longer the Sith held her hand to Jula's warm body, the angrier she became. The alien's purity and innocence taunted her, as if showing her own faults in a mirror.

"Why did Lord Andar keep you around? Did he screw you?"

Jula shook her head. "No."

"So you were a pet? Something to remind him that he could still love a pure, holy love?" Vathamma's hand moved back down Jula's side and rested on her hip, then squeezed. "I had someone like that once."

Vathamma looked up to watch the fear flashing across her slave's face. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and her lips trembled, sending shivers from head to toe that the Sith could feel in her palm. "Now all I have is you."

As the Sith watched her slave's face with a mixture of anger and disconnected grief, she saw her crack her eyes open and look down at her Mistress.

"Would you like to talk about him?" said Jula, in a strained voice.

Vathamma pulled back in surprise and stared at her for a moment before putting her face in her hands and breaking down into retching sobs. Jula rubbed her hands together anxiously before taking a seat beside the Sith and placing her palms on either shoulder. Her Mistress shook with each anguished breath in and out, hands rubbing at her eyes in a vain attempt to stop the flow of tears.

"I am sure he is ok!" Jula urged, massaging the Sith's shoulders vigorously.

Vathamma glared back at her with yellow irises reddened by tears. "What would _you _know." She buried her face back in her hands, and Jula leaned in closer.

"Nomi said—" Her mouth snapped shut, and Vathamma brought her head up to look at her.

"Said _what?"_

The slave's eyes darted about. "She said... that... she is sure he is fine!"

Vathamma turned her body towards her on the couch, then placed her fingertips on the Togruta's temples. "Tell me what you know, or I will tear the knowledge from that little head."

Jula swallowed hard, and as soon as she felt the first bit of Force beginning to work on her mind, spilled her guts to the Sith. Vathamma listened along, growing angrier, then happier, then angrier as the slave spoke. Once her story had concluded, Vathamma sent Jula to her quarters within the apartment and made a call to Intelligence headquarters. Either Nomi would be working, or she would be sleeping in the dormitories nearby. Regardless, an escort would drag her to Vathamma's home within the hour.

The Sith finished her call and waited, pacing about her living room and glancing at the digital clock on a wall-side table. True to Imperial efficiency, fifty-five minutes had passed when the chime sounded at the other end of the foyer.

The lift doors to Vathamma's apartment opened, and Nomi emerged, along with the two guards escorting her. Vathamma met the trio in the entryway and waved off the guards, then beckoned Nomi to follow her into the livingroom. Without any clue as to why she was summoned, Nomi avoided speaking first. The Sith was animated and vigorous, but her expression was unreadable.

"Do you know why I summoned you here?" Vathamma said.

"No, Darth Crucia." Unlike her sister, Nomi pointedly avoiding referring to her former 'Mistress' as such. Using her Sith honorific was far less humiliating.

A tightness formed around Nomi's throat, and the Sith stood before her with hand outstretched.

"I kept you around in case my Apprentice returned. That was the only reason. You know that, yes?" Nomi grunted an acknowledgement, letting a precious bit of air escape and finding she was unable to draw more in. "I realize now that my hope was folly. He is dead." Her grip tightened. "So, tell me; is there any reason I should let you live?"

Nomi's eyes darted around frantically.

"None at all?" Vathamma said, tilting her head to one side. Nomi swallowed past the hand choking the life from her and slowly shook her head from side to side, straining against the pressure holding her by the neck. Vathamma sighed and let her drop to the floor. "I know about Makeb!" Nomi rubbed her neck and looked up in confusion. "I had to pry it out of that idiot sister of yours. Did you really think you could slip away from me so easily?"

The Togruta's silence told her that she thought she could.

"Tell me everything, or I really _will _end your life."

Nomi stood to her feet and smoothed out her ruffled shirt. "The report by Cipher Nine—he had made contact with a Hutt, and laid a trap for a Jedi."

Vathamma nodded. "I saw. The Jedi escaped and the Hutt is dead. So what?"

"Cipher Nine recovered the Hutt's ocular implant, and the footage it recorded before his death."

"So now we know which Jedi is flying about neutral space abducting scientists?"

Nomi tapped her fingers together and stared at the ground. "Yes, but it also showed the man who was with her."

The Sith's heart skipped a beat, and she leaned forward ever so slightly. "Torin?" Nomi nodded, and the Sith's mouth dropped open. "Why didn't you tell me? Where is this footage?"

"I deleted it." Nomi cringed and prepared for the woman to strike her.

Vathamma stared at her in disbelief. "Why would you do that?"

"So that you could not find him."

To her surprise, Vathamma simply paced back and forth while throwing a few glances her way. She was too busy thinking to indulge her anger with the Togruta. If anyone had the resources to track down the Jedi's vessel, it would be her, director of Imperial Intelligence. She didnt even need Nomi to identify the Jedi—the report she had seen already identified her ship—with that, they could deduce its destination.

Vathamma stopped pacing and turned to Nomi. "What was your plan? To escape to whatever Jedi enclave they have him in, and live happily ever after?" Nomi opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Despite the flippant nature of the Sith's comment, she had hit the mark. "You _do _know how Jedi handle relationships, don't you?"

More silence.

"They _don't." _Vathamma walked towards her. "In a Jedi's life, there is no room for wives, lovers, or even friends." She looked off to the side thoughtfully and propped her elbow up on one arm. "Whereas if he's here, with me, he can have all of those. Do you understand?"

Nomi nodded.

"Then it seems we're allies." Vathamma held out a hand towards her and smiled. Nomi hesitated for a moment, then took the Sith's hand in her own and shook it.


	5. Into The Light

Tython came into view, and for a brief moment Torin felt as if he'd come home after a lengthy trip.

Intellectually it made sense to call the planet home, and in some ways it felt that way, too; it seemed there was no room for argument otherwise. Still, it was an odd thing to consider. A month ago he didnt know the planet had existed, and now he was counting down the minutes until their cruiser set down on the Jedi Temple's landing pad. Their once-unruly passenger displayed no less interest than him, though she tried hard to hide it. Ayahe paced back and forth just outside the bridge, stopping now and then to peer outside the cockpit window while Torin tried unsuccessfully to beckon her in with a smile and wave.

"I'll have some explaining to do to the council," said Ziare from the pilot's chair. He didnt envy her task. If he were asked to stand in front of the Masters again, he doubted he could manage a credible lie even if he wanted to try and pass one off on them. His Master still hadn't told him why she had gone to such lengths to try to rescue a single scientist—a Hutt, no less.

They hadn't done anything wrong on Makeb. A young girl was free of whatever bondage she'd endured, and a treacherous Hutt was dead at the blaster of one of his own clumsy guards. Nor was Torin inclined to feel particularly guilty about going against the Jedi Council's neutrality with regards to the Hutt Cartel. He had not been raised as a Jedi, and didnt give a damn about their politics.

Still, he felt a deep-seated unease somewhere in the pit of his stomach, as if he'd done something wrong. Eventually he would press Ziare for an explanation, but that could wait. She had urgent matters to attend to, and he had his own task to perform.

Their ship made landfall on an open-air landing pads sticking out from one of the temple's three superstructures, and the travelers left the ship behind. Ziare split off to meet with the council, while Torin guided Ayahe to the temple's ground-floor exit. Every few seconds, he looked back to make sure she was still following. The Twi'lek appeared ready to bolt at a moment's notice, except for the time she took to stop and stare in bewilderment at some display of Force power shown by a student or Master. Coming to the temple had been jarring enough for _him, _someone who had been trained under a Sith—and even fought a few. For a girl who had likely never seen a Jedi before yesterday, it was akin to finding out magic was real.

"Do you speak Twi'lek?" He must have asked the question of a dozen different students by the time they reached the steps out front of the temple. Most said 'no, sorry', a few shrugged, and one didnt respond at all. There were certainly Twi'lek Jedi on Tython, but none when he needed them. No doubt the temple had universal translators stored somewhere, but he wasn't going to be with Ayahe long, anyway.

Upon leaving the building, the pair got in one of the automated open-air cruisers that ran around the greater Jedi Enclave. It was generally frowned upon for the students to use them—their Masters preferred they walk—but his escorting a guest was reason enough to skirt that rule. They took the cruiser along a well-worn dirt path, over gentle rivers and ancient stone bridges into the mountainside. The trees were thinner than in the valley where the Temple sat, and Torin thought he could smell the change in altitude, like the air was clear of whatever moldy fog occasionally hung in the lowlands. Built below the terraced ridges and granite slopes ahead of them was a small town—no more than a village, really.

'Kalikori village,' Ziare had called it. Sturdy homes of concrete foundations and steel walls ran in concentric circles, terminating in a central building that looked not unlike the Jedi Temple in miniature, if it had been made out of scavenged starship hull. They drew a few stares from the Twi'leks that made the village their home, though no one deigned to greet them. They entered the main assembly hall, found it empty, and continued through to a side office where Torin had been told he could find the settlement's Matriarch. The humble quarters were made more cramped by the addition of supply crates that lined the walls and overflowed onto a desk sticking out of the right wall. Barely visible behind one of the boxes was a green Lekku; the tentacle moved out of view just as a woman's head popped out from the other side of the crate.

"Can I help you?" she said, looking between the two guests.

"Ah... yeah." Torin placed a hand on Ayahe's back and walked her towards one of the chairs in front of the Matriarch's desk, sitting her down before clearing another chair of accumulated junk and taking a seat behind her. "My name is Torin." He leaned over the desk and shook her hand.

"Ranna," the woman replied.

"This is Ayahe. I was told to bring her here."

The Matriarch turned to the younger Twi'lek and spoke with her in an incomprehensible blur of alien speech. Ayahe shouted animatedly, throwing a pointed glare and accusatory finger at Torin every few sentences.

"She is very angry with you," said Ranna.

"I got that."

"She says you killed her employer."

Not technically true, but close enough that he wasn't going to argue the matter. "Her _owner, _a Hutt—yes."

Ranna smiled slightly. "I know how she's feeling. For better or worse, you've uprooted her from her home and brought her to a strange planet."

"I already asked her this, but I want to double check. Does she have a home—a real one? Any family?"

The Matriarch spoke with Ayahe for a full minute. It seemed like the older woman was having trouble dragging any sort of details out of the girl, but he was reassured by her thoroughness. The last thing he wanted to do was stick someone's daughter in a refugee camp due to a misunderstanding.

"She doesn't know who her parents are." Ranna sighed. "The only names she can give are past owners." Torin frowned uneasily and the woman held up a hand. "It's not unusual, this. Many of the men and women who live here were once slaves, like her. It will take time and effort, but we can make a home for her here."

Ranna spoke with Ayahe again, leaning over her desk as she spoke in soothing tones. He guessed from her voice and the awkward look on the younger girl's face that Ranna was discussing her new living arrangements. She finished and seemed to be waiting for an answer, and the girl glanced at Torin a few times as if seeking an option other than the one Ranna had given her.

He stood up and patted the girl on the shoulder, then said his goodbyes to both of them, leaving the Twi'leks to speak in private. For better or worse, this planet would be her home—at least for awhile—and like him, she would have to learn to make the most of it.

Torin left the village and returned home, unsure of whether or not his Master had finished her meeting with the council. "Ziare?" The entryway was empty, as was the common room. Torin called his Master's name again, then went to her bedroom near the kitchen and rapped his knuckles on the door.

No answer.

He hovered his hand over the door controls for a moment before pressing the button. What met him was not a bedroom, but a closet, no more than five feet deep and ten feet long. A mattress and bedding was shoved into one corner, with a desk and tablet computer on the other side of the room.

"What are you doing?"

Torin spun around to face Ziare. She walked towards him and shut the door to her room.

"Have you been _sleeping _in there?" he said in astonishment. "It's a closet!"

"Don't concern yourself."

He pointed to the entry hall and his own living quarters. "Is that _your _bedroom?"

"No, it is yours. You were in a medically-induced coma. You needed rest."

"Sure, a month ago," he scoffed, then put on a more serious expression. "Maybe I should live with the other Padawans."

A hand shot out, and fingers dug into his shoulder. "No!" Ziare's face was twisted up in frustration. On a normal person it would have fell well within the normal range of expressions, but on the serene Jedi it was terrifying. "I told you that you living here was no trouble. You understand that, don't you?"

He shrunk back in her grip. "Yeah, I get it."

Seeming to realize how much her overreaction had disturbed him, she put both hands on the sides of his arms and rubbed up and down vigorously. "Good, good!" she said with a smile. She turned to her door controls to lock them while Torin went to his own bedroom. He emerged a few moments later with an extra set of bedsheets he had grabbed from the room's closet.

"What are you doing?" she said.

He dumped the bedding on the couch and began unfolding it. "You'll sleep in your bedroom, and I'll sleep out here." The declaration had the air of an ultimatum, and Ziare made as if to speak before letting the matter drop.

A few hours later, night had come, the lights were switched off, and Torin sat on his makeshift bed watching the forest outside lighten and darken as clouds passed between him and Tython's two moons. What kept him awake was not the prospect of meeting the Falleen girl in his dreams, but the idea of meeting her in the waking world. It wasn't the craziest idea to latch onto; she could well have survived the battle at Malgus' station. If she appeared in front of him, right now, what would he say to her? Ziare had revealed some of their relationship through the memories she shared with Torin, but the gaping hole that remained told him there was still much left unrecovered.

His head rolled back forward as he began to nod off to sleep, and he saw her there, standing in front of him with bare feet and a ragged black robe that covered all but the bottom half of her face.

"Bad dreams?"

Snapping wide awake, he saw Ziare standing in front of him.

"No, no," he muttered, pushing himself upright on the couch. "I just couldn't sleep for... normal reasons."

She sat down on the couch, living a few feet of space between them. "Thinking over your new memories?"

Nothing could get past her. It worried him how much of an open book he seemed to be to the woman. "I wanted to ask you about Isatryn."

Ziare closed her eyes. "It is not a pleasant story."

"I'd still like to know."

"Know what?"

He frowned at her evasiveness. "Well, what happened to her? How did she become a Sith?"

"After you left, she only grew further out of control. She was a danger not only to herself and the other students, but the teachers, as well."

"What about her parents? They didn't take her back?"

"She didnt have any." Torin continued staring at her, and Ziare sighed. "Did you see the scar on her throat?" He mumbled an acknowledgement. "Her mother did that to her soon after Isatryn learned how to speak—before she came to our attention."

"What happened to them?"

"We never found out for sure, but they were out of the picture entirely."

"What happened to her when she was kicked out of Jedi training?"

"Normally the council would find employment for a failed student in the civil services, but Isatryn's was a special case. There was nowhere her powers and lack of self-control would not be a liability."

"So you just abandoned her?" He regretted the question as soon as he asked it. It was unlikely that Ziare had much—if any—say in the matter.

"There was no helping her. She was too angry, too afraid, and too strong. It is not surprising that she found a home within the Sith order."

"Sounds like our stories ran parallel."

"Only in the most superficial measuring." She slid one leg up onto the couch and turned to look at him. Moonlight illuminated the woods outside and for a moment, the Jedi came in full view. She wore the loose brown pants he'd become used to seeing her in, but had taken off her tunic and wore only a beige undershirt that hung down as she leaned towards him, exposing the top of her chest. Her gray eyes caught the moon's light and seemed to hold it even after the clouds had once again moved into place.

"I couldn't be prouder of the man you have become." She rocked forward onto her knee and placed a hand on his cheek, running it to the back of his head where she rubbed her thumb in circles. Even if he had thought to look away, he couldn't have. Those gentle yet powerful eyes, aged without fading, wise without being jaded, drew him in. Her touch had his heart aflutter, and with the Jedi's heightened awareness there was no chance she was unaware of the effect she was having on him.

"And I can't believe how much you've grown..." Her left hand went to his chest, then slid across as if to measure the breadth of his torso. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and his mouth hung slightly open as he met her gaze. She had him in her control, completely and utterly subdued under a spell he had no desire to break.

"Would you indulge me for a moment?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes."

She sat back, folded her legs on the couch, and patted her thighs. "Lay your head here."

Confused, but not wanting to disappoint, he awkwardly maneuvered on the sofa until his back lay on the couch and his head rested in the crook between the woman's legs. A hand fell on his head and stayed there, fingers moving lightly through his hair as another hand went to his shoulder. At first he could not get over how awkward he felt, laying in this woman's lap like a child, but then she began humming. The lyrical tune caressed his ears in time with the hand on his head, pulling him back into sleep before she had sang more than a few notes.

The next morning, Torin awoke with his head on the couch. When he next saw Ziare the woman behaved just as usual, so he followed suit. Time seemed to move slowly on Tython, so he felt no need to rush things and force his growing feelings onto the woman. The following week of training was punctuated by warm moments of domestic bliss, ones he never wanted to end. With that contentedness, his mind would be drawn to thoughts of the three women he'd left to die aboard Andar's ship. He'd started to enjoy his time on Tython, but did he deserve it?

To take his mind elsewhere, he decided to ask Ziare for a few hours reprieve from training to visit Kalikori village and see how their refugee had settled in. He hadn't expected her to turn him down, but he also hadn't expected the sheer overwhelming enthusiasm she had shown—like a mother whose son was headed out on his first date. With no small amount of embarrassment he set out hiking for the settlement, and reached it by mid-morning when the ice was just beginning to clear from the grass.

The village seemed empty at first, but then he saw that the inhabitants were all gathered in one location outside the main meeting hall. Matriarch Ranna was attempting to soothe a group of angry Twi'leks while the rest watched the discussion with varying amounts of interest. Standing off to the side was the blue-skinned Twi'lek Jedi whom Torin had held a brief discussion with on the long walk that ended with him determined to become Ziare's student. The Jedi's eyes met his, and they both pointed at each other and muttered an 'oh' when they recognized the other.

"Whats going on?" Torin said, eyeing the arguing aliens.

"One of the new arrivals has caused some trouble."

Torin's breath caught in his throat. "Purple girl? About this tall?" He held his hand at chest height.

The Jedi raised an eyebrow. "Do you know her?"

"I brought her here just over a week ago. What could she have done in a week?" He scanned the assembled crowd for her.

"She isn't here," said the Jedi. "She's run off."

Torin frowned. "So why the big gathering?"

Ranna glanced towards the two men and politely disengaged from the angry Twi'leks before walking over to Torin. "Some of the others caught her tampering with our batteries. They accused her of sabotage, the argument got out of hand, and..." She gestured at the group of villagers.

Torin shrugged. "They cant handle one teenage girl? If you don't want to go find her, I will."

He started for the group of townspeople, but the Jedi grabbed him by the shoulder. "It's not that simple. She told the others that she was going to the ruins of Kaleth."

"What is that?"

"The remains of a settlement predating the Jedi Order. Archaeological efforts were started, but had to be stopped. The excavations awoke a garrison of ancient droids."

"Then it's even _simpler," _Torin said, swinging an arm angrily. "We go there now, before she gets herself hurt."

"It is forbidden," the Jedi urged. "By order of the Jedi Council. I will go speak to them about granting access."

Torin looked at him in disbelief. "And how long will _that _take?"

"Let the stupid girl go," a red Twi'lek said. "So long as those droids do not come here, what do we care?"

Torin reached out and used the Force to choke the man, then walked forward with him until the Twi'lek's back struck a metal wall.

"I told that girl she could have a home here!" Behind him, the other villagers cowered back.

"Let him go." The Jedi's hand moved to his lightsaber, and his expression told Torin that he was prepared to use it.

Torin released the man in his grip and stomped over to the Matriarch. "If you made a liar out of me, your village is going to have a new enemy." He looked to the Jedi, whose hand was easing off of his weapon. "And no _Jedi _will help you."

With those words he stormed off towards the taxi pad on the village outskirts. The dashboard had a built-in map showing the locales in and around the temple valley, but it wasn't programmed to go to many of them—certainly not crumblings ruins crawling with hostile droids. He used the Force to pry off a panel in front of the passenger seat and pulled out a tangle of wires, tearing two apart before winding them back together in a new configuration. Hotwiring cruisers wasn't a skill he was particularly proud of, but no one could say it wasn't useful. The cruiser's power flickered and the engine sputtered, then the whole thing whirred back to life as the autopilot yielded full control to him. He took hold of the control stick and zoomed off in a flurry of dust and a blast of hot air, eyes darting to the dashboard map as he charted a rough course for the ruins.

Away from the mountains and valleys, navigating was relatively easy. A few times he hit dense forests or deep ravines that he would have to deviate around, but even without real roads it didnt take him long to reach the ruins. They came into view suddenly and without warning, mossy stone pillars and cracked arches seeming to grow out of the forest floor just like the trees they towered over.

Torin stopped the cruiser outside a vaulted entryway too narrow for any vehicle, and entered what could loosely be called a courtyard. An enormous statue sat in the middle of the grassy expanse, a hooded man silently praying with his head bowed. Long ago this might have been the interior of a grand temple like the one the Jedi had built; now, it was barely even recognizable as a single structure. He walked past the statue, and jumped back when his foot struck something metal. A clumsy-looking bipedal droid lay on the ground, its body intact but its indicator lights lifeless and dull. Scanning the ruins, he saw at least another seven such droids, all disabled. Whether earlier intruders had done that or Ayahe herself had, he didnt know, but either way it boded well for his chances of returning the girl safely. Now, he just needed to find her.

Across the courtyard was a doorway, built into a vertical stone facade that was barely recognizable as manmade. The years had worn the designs smooth, and vines had overtaken much of it. Torin parted the foliage hanging in front of him and entered. A chill ran down his spine as cold air blew past him from inside. Could there be an exit at the other end? With no better idea on where to begin looking for the Twi'lek, he started down the dark hall, footsteps echoing off stone while he prayed that droids were the ruins' only danger. An ornery robot or two he could handle; a cave-in would he another matter.

Up ahead was light—but not the outdoors of Tython. A single ray of sun shone down from the ceiling in a large, circular room ringed with stone benches. Squinting through the darkness, he saw a figure pacing about the space, skirting the edge of the room—it was Ayahe.

"Hey!" he called out. The girl jumped at the noise, and something in her hands clattered to the floor. She picked it back up and backed away as Torin approached. "You need to come with me." He tried to grab the girl by the wrist, but she pulled back.

"No, not done!" she replied in a defiant voice.

"_Now _you can speak Basic?"

She held up her index finger. "I learn, one week."

"That's great, but this place is dangerous." He tried to grab her again.

"No!" She wrenched free of his grip and held up the device in her hands. It was a hodge-podge mix of electronics, contained in a crude plastic case with two antennas sticking out of the top. "Need to find Kyber crystals."

"I think you'd have better luck at the Temple." The crystals were extremely rare, and the keystone of lightsaber construction. The Sith made theirs, and Torin wasn't even sure where the Jedi found them. He _did _know that they didnt find them on Tython.

"Here!" She stomped a foot on the floor in frustration and stared at the bizarre device in her hands. "It here!" The room shook with the last stomp of her foot, whatever tiny amount of strength the girl had in her legs the proverbial straw that broke the Bantha's back. Torin grabbed the girl's arm again—this time hard—and started for the entryway as bits of rock and stone fell around them. His stomach lurched and he was no longer standing on solid ground. Squared stones gave way beneath them, falling with both Torin and the girl in his hand.

Acting purely on instinct, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, then used the Force to extend a protective shield around them both. Air whistled by his ears and rock wall sailed past his eyes as they fell, stone battering him on the way down. His back struck something hard, but he soon realized that he hadn't quite reached bottom. He slid off of it and kept falling into what seemed like a bottomless pit. His side met hard rock and he stopped—this time for good. Turning his head to the left, he looked up towards the tunnel they had just fallen through. Stone masonry slid down the hole after them, accumulating on the ledge he had struck halfway down until the light from above was nearly completely blocked out. He kept his barrier up until the clatter of falling rocks had ceased, then released his shield and let Ayahe roll out of his arms.

"Are you alright?" He could hardly see her in the near-darkness, but she was able to stand.

"Good," she replied in a frightened voice she covered up with annoyance. 'Good' was probably not the word she would choose if she had more than a week's worth of Basic under her belt.

He stood up and brushed himself off. The tunnel above was completely plugged, and not a sliver of light slipped through. So how could they see? All around them was gray darkness, except for a patch of cavern wall off in the distance. It was hard to tell if light was coming from somewhere in that direction or if it reflected from some other place in the cave. In any case, he preferred not to keep standing under the cave-in they had just caused—they needed to move.

Torin searched out Ayahe's hand and grasped it just firmly enough that he would not lose her. "This way." The ground was uneven, and he walked with one foot ahead to search out any unexpected divots or drops that could have one of them twisting an ankle or hurtling another two hundred feet to their death. After what they'd just survived, it wasn't an unreasonable fear. They neared the glowing patch of wall and he saw that it was actually _two _walls. A tunnel curved off of the main cavern, cutting a tight turn to the left. They entered and Torin moved his arm in front of his face, blocking out what seemed a blinding glare. In an absolute sense it wasn't bright, but to his darkness-addled eyes he might as well have been staring at the sun. Veins of glittering ore ran in streaks along the walls and ceiling, painting a colorful path that illuminated the way forward.

Ayahs gripped his hand tightly, and he looked to her as they walked, now able to divert some of his attention away the ground. "Why are you looking for Kyber crystals?" He'd realized that he had buried the lede with his earlier musing of why she was looking for them _here. _What did a Twi'lek teenager need them for at all?

"Villagers—small people, small minds." She forcefully tapped her head. "I have big idea."

Torin couldn't say he emphasized. Usually he felt like a small fish in a big pond, not the other way around.

"What's your big idea?"

"Kyber crystal battery. No more blackout."

He nodded. "Oh." He turned thoughtful and looked at the girl again. "What did you do for Obossa?" It was a potentially sensitive subject, but now he suspected it might not be what he had previously thought.

"Science," she said. "Obossa—good engineer, bad science. Papers?" She patted her chest and looked up at him. "Me."

He snorted in amusement. A Hutt plagiarizing his teenage slave's research—it was too absurd not to believe.

"And what were you doing on Makeb?"

"Planet unstable." She held her fists pushed together, then brought them apart and wiggled her fingers. "Want to make stable."

He did a double-take at the girl. "Are you saying the whole planet is going to break apart?" She nodded, and he sighed. "Well, remind me to tell someone that if we make it out of here." She looked at him in concern. "_When _we make it out of here," he added with a smile.

The streaks of glowing dust lining the rock around them became denser and brighter, turning the tunnel into an effervescent rainbow of dizzying color. "Neat, huh?" Ayahe didnt respond. She was right to be worried. He would have been, too, were he not reassured by the feeling that their path was leading upwards. It was tough to judge distance in the underground corridor, but his sense of balance told him that they were at least moving towards the surface.

Up ahead, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Not the clean rays of sun that shone down on Tython—no, this light was blue. A deep aqua that clawed in at the edges of the tunnel, overpowering the weak glow of the rock around them. Ayahe's hand slipped from his and the girl shot off like a rocket.

"Hey!" Torin ran after her, chasing the girl into another large cavern. Just past the exit was a low hillock jutting out of the ground, riddled with mean-looking stalagmites that ran across the floor like spines on a creature's back. He navigated the treacherous ground and kept chasing after her, pushing off of the spikes and stumbling over uneven terrain. Even with no sunlight, he could still see all across the vast space. Blue crystals were embedded in the walls that sloped gradually upward, glowing like sconces in an underground amphitheatre. At the far end of the space was a steep hill, atop which was built an altar enclosed on three sides with stone walls. The crack of stone echoed throughout the room, moving from left ear to right. To his left, Ayahe was bashing away at one of the crystal clusters with a rock.

"Stop that!" He ran over and snatched the stone from her grip just as she prepared to bring it down again. Assuming those _were _Kyber crystals, he wasn't about to let her take a rock to them. The cavern had the heavy air of a holy site—it felt wrong to even be there. It wasn't the same primal repulsion he'd experienced on Malachor V. This was subtler, like he was being told he wasn't pure enough to set foot in this place.

"We're finding another way out of here—now." He grabbed her wrist and lead her towards the exit. The ground began to shake, and the uneven ground between them and the exit rose up. The rocky outcroppings tilted up and away from them as a head rose from the cracked rock, a monstrous, reptilian face covered in armored plates that gleamed in the blue light of the crystals running up the walls behind it. Two muscular arms, just as heavily armored and as big as tree trunks, popped free of the ground and slammed back down. A pair of legs followed, stubby things that were barely visible beneath the hulking body of the nightmarish monstrosity. As it settled back down on the upset ground, it let out a thunderous roar that shook the cavern and split Torin's ears. His head rang and his bones quaked, freezing him in primal fear.

"Don't move," he whispered to Ayahe, his voice shaking despite his attempt to stay calm for her sake. "It might not have seen us." His hand moved back to hold her still, but met with open air. The patter of feet and a frantic panting sounded behind him as the girl ran away from the creature towards the rear of the cave. The monster opened its eyes, like pools of blood seeped in stone that swiveled about before landing on the girl. It roared again and the Twi'lek looked back in fear as she ran, only to catch her foot in a hole that yanked her back. With a scream she fell forward, nearly face planting on the floor of the cave. The beast lifted up one of its short legs and brought it forward, shaking the cave with each heavy stomp as it beat a path to its wounded prey. With no weapon in hand, Torin did the only thing he could think of and hit the thing with a blast of Force. It staggered backwards against the cave wall, sticking its arms out to either side to steady itself. Its attention turned to Torin, who ran to Ayahe while debris fell from the ceiling. He couldn't kill it, not without bringing the ceiling down on both of them. They needed to get past it, into the narrow tunnel it couldn't possibly chase them through.

He slipped a hand under Ayahe to lift her, but she cried out as soon as she put any weight on her right foot. "Break!" she yelled, squeezing her eyes shut. The creature closed the distance with the two, and prepared to bring down a heavy fist on the both of them. Torin snapped to attention and held his hands out, creating a barrier just in time to meet the beast's attack. The air rippled around them as an unstoppable force met an immovable object, radiating the blast outward. Tremors shook the cave, sending more rocks hurtling down from the ceiling on all three of them. Another punch came, this one even more powerful than the last. Torin quaked in his stance, unable to devote a fraction of power elsewhere while he endured the endless onslaught bearing down on them. Denied its prey, the creature only grew angrier, giving no thought—if it were capable of such a thing—to the collapsing cave. Its fist drew up above them again, and Torin prepared for what could be his final moment.

A purple glow appeared behind the creature's head. The creature roared, but it was not a cry of dominance—it was one of pain. The light disappeared from behind it and reappeared between its feet. The fist hanging above Torin's shield like an executioner's blade wavered and relaxed, then fell aside as the monster staggered sideways. Its massive body slammed into the wall to their left, then slumped down into a final rest, no more than fifty feet from where it had awoken. Standing before Torin and Ayahe was Isatryn Sol, the Falleen woman he had dreamt about for so long. He was tempted to believe her to be a spirit, some fevered imagination, but everything about their situation told him that this was real.

"A Terentatek." She pointed at the fallen creature with one of her two sabers. "Creations of Sith Alchemy, used as tools of war long ago. Forgotten, buried—but monsters do not always stay buried."

There was only one reason she would have risked coming to Tython. "We don't need to fight," he urged her. "I remember you!" He kept his Force barrier up, preparing for a fight while he hoped otherwise.

She sneered and redirected the weapon at him. "What do you remember? A scared little girl? She no longer exists."

"Maybe you're right!" he exclaimed desperately. "But we were friends, weren't we?"

"They took away my first home because of you. Ten years later, you take away my second. Now here you are, taken in by the Jedi while I'm left to wallow in the wreckage of my life." Every muscle in her body tensed and coiled beneath her purple gown, like a serpent ready to strike. "I will not know peace until one of us is dead. It does not matter which."

There was no reasoning with her, and Torin wasn't about to give her the advantage of the first move. He strengthened the barrier around himself and Ayahe as best he could, throwing as much energy as he could into the invisible shield for a split second. Simultaneously he shouted, letting loose a force-enhanced yell that echoed off of the small bubble he had wrapped them in. It was like getting hit head-on with a brick. His ears rang and vision swam, making it hard to focus on Isatryn, but it had the desired effect—he couldn't hear a thing. Without being able to listen to the Falleen's spoken commands, her pheromones were useless.

He dropped the shield and reached up above Isatryn to pull a chunk of ceiling down on her. She jumped back as the rock slab struck the floor, shaking the cave. With no weapons other than what he could grab, he ripped more rocks from the walls and flung them at her; some she dodged, while others she sliced in half with deft swings of her twin sabers. Torin was growing tired, but the constant assault was having its desired effect. Isatryn was pushed back further and further, her back nearly hitting the curved wall of the cave where she would have little room to maneuver. One of the projectiles struck her hard in the stomach, tossing her against the wall and making her collapse onto all fours. Her sabers burned against the ground, and she looked up at Torin.

To his surprise, her hands left her weapons and shot out at him. He raised his arms to block the expected push of Force, but he felt nothing. The Falleen strained and gritted her teeth, as if working against some titanic energy that threatened to overpower her. Torin spun about, expecting to see some boulder flying at him from across the cavern. Instead, he saw Ayahe, desperately crawling across the ground while she stared up at the massive chunk of ceiling hovering above her. He ran over and snatched her up, then ran free of the rock just barely remaining aloft. As soon as they were safe it crashed to the ground with a thunderous boom, and Isatryn collapsed onto her hands.

For a time they stared at each other, the only noise being the ringing in Torin's ears that had begun to fade. Isatryn stood up with her sabers in hand, and her face hardened. She moved to attack, when something flew forth from out of the exit tunnel to their right. A thick band wrapped itself around her ankles, drawing them tightly together and sending her sprawling to the floor. More bands shot out, restraining her arms behind her back and sealing her mouth tight. Afterwards came Ziare, hand extended towards the Falleen who lay writhing on the ground, screeching in muffled protest. Ziare looked to him and her mouth moved, but he could not hear her.

"I can't hear you," he said, pointing at his ear. He might have shouted the words, for all he knew. Ziare pointed at the tunnel and waved him towards it, then turned back to her captive. Torin reached his arms under Ayahe and scooped her up in his arms, then began stumbling back towards the cavern they had fallen into. A makeshift lift awaited them, a wooden platform attached to a rope atop which stood the Twi'lek Jedi whom Torin had left behind earlier. He pulled on the rope and all three ascended in slow silence, moving up into the light.

* * *

"You wanted a job?" Vathamma said. "I have a job for you."

Seated across the desk from her was the Mandalorian woman she had summoned with little warning and even less information. Maliss leaned forward in her seat, eager for something to stave off the ennui that had begun to set in after weeks of listless drinking in Dromund Kaas' many cantinas.

"Well, alright. Let's hear it."

The Sith stared down the Mandalorian. "This does not leave this room, understand? You blab a word of this, and you will be killed. I'm breaking protocol simply by having this discussion with you."

Maliss waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. I get it."

Vathamma brought up a holographic projection of Tython over the desk. "This is Tython. Located on Tython is the Jedi Temple." An orange blip lit up on part of the sphere, marking the temple's location. "In less than twenty-four hours, Darth Arkous will be sending a strike team to raid the temple and acquire critical data from the server banks stored there."

The Mandalorian's mouth fell open. She quickly closed it and sat back in her seat, fidgeting excitedly. "Alright, yeah. I'll do it."

Vathamma held up a hand to steady her. "I haven't told you what _it _is, yet." The holographic planet disappeared, and she reached under the desk to pull out a datapad. "You're going to be extracting another target."

Maliss took the datapad in hand, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw the picture of her target.

"He's alive? At the _Jedi Temple?" _She looked up to Vathamma. "You're sure?"

"Yes." The corners of the Sith's mouth began to draw up into a smile, but she forced them back down. "You'll travel alongside the strike team separately. Once you've landed, find him and bring him home."

Maliss drew a breath in and prepared to ask a question she didn't particularly want to broach with the Sith woman. "What if he doesn't want to come?"

"You mean if they've brainwashed him?" Vathamma frowned at the thought. "You're bigger than him. Make him come."

"Alright, got it." She slid the datapad back across the table. "Dead or alive, right?"

Vathamma frowned. "What do you think?"

Maliss laughed. "Relax, I'll get your boy toy back." She began to rise from her seat.

"Uh-uh." Vathamma pointed at the chair, motioning for her to sit back down. "That's not all I need you to do. There's a reason I'm bringing _you _in on this, and not the many qualified intelligence operatives at my disposal." She laid out her plan to Maliss, and the Mandalorian grew more and more horrified as the Sith spoke.

"You're serious?" Maliss said; the Sith nodded back. "No goddamn way."

Vathamma scowled and stared her down. "You want your pardon, don't you?" Maliss remained silent. "Do this, or be a fugitive for the rest of your life."

Maliss dropped her head and closed her eyes, remaining quiet for a few moments before looking up at the Sith. "I'll do it."


	6. A Fire Burns

For the second time in as many months, Torin stood in the Jedi Council chambers in front of seven assembled masters. The Grand Master was absent—she had better things to do than mediate petty disputes—and Torin's own Master wasn't included due to her inherent bias in the matter. He recognized a few of the Jedi from his visits to the temple, but could not say he knew them well enough to predict how his hearing would turn out.

"Do you know why we called you here today?" said the robed man at the head of the table. His voice was wise, but he looked ageless. With a shaved head and nary a wrinkle on his face, he could just as likely have been thirty or sixty.

Torin swallowed and squeezed his wrist with both hands held behind his back. "For assaulting one of the Twi'leks at Kalikori village."

"Correct." The man rolled up his sleeves and picked up a datapad from the table. "Do you have anything to say in defense of your actions?"

He shook his head. "No. I was angry, and overreacted."

The Jedi nodded. Ziare had assured Torin that the bravery of his other actions would outweigh what was ultimately a minor incident.

"You also threatened them with violence if anything happened to the girl you found." He looked to Torin expectantly, who stared up for a moment in thought.

"I stand by my words, Master Jedi."

The room, which had already been nearly silent, grew even quieter as the other Jedis' breath caught for a moment and they looked to the head Master.

"You should think over those words carefully, Torin Val. You know the extraordinary circumstances under which you were brought to Tython. If you were only to assure us that you would not act out in such a way again—"

"I'd be lying," Torin said, cutting him short.

The Jedi frowned and exchanged inscrutable looks of silent communication with his fellows, then looked back to Torin. "We are finished here."

All of the assembled Masters rose from their seats, and Torin slipped out the exit of the council chambers. Ziare was waiting for him outside, and together they descended the curved stairwell in silence. "Fools," she muttered. Apparently she _had _overheard at least some of the discussion. Once they reached the first floor, Torin placed a hand on her shoulder and came to a stop.

"I need my lightsaber." Ziare met his request with uneasy silence. "It was on my belt when you found me—I know you have it."

She sighed. "Why do you want it?"

"I'm not going to try and fix it, if that's what you think. I just want the Kyber crystal."

"Wait here," she said, then vanished down one of the adjoining corridors. Passing students and teachers eyed Torin as he milled about, feeling very awkward under their stares—no doubt they had heard at least the broad strokes of what the council had summoned him to the temple for. Ziare came back out of the hall with her hands folded into her sleeves and nodded towards the temple exit. Torin followed her, and once they were in the emptiness of the entry plaza she withdrew a hand from her sleeve, revealing the charred remnants of his lightsaber. A hole was blown in the middle of the hilt, interrupting the twin helixes of gold Electrum his former Master had woven around it.

He took the weapon in hand, slowly, as if touching it would bring to the surface every unpleasant thought he had managed to push down deep—but he felt nothing when his fingers wrapped around the cold metal.

Ziare lay a hand on top of his. "When the time comes, you will build a new one."

He flashed a smile then looked back to the broken saber. After that meeting with the council, he wasn't going to be holding his breath. Ziare left him to his thoughts, and he began the long trek to Kalikori village. Night fell before he reached it, putting the town to a much-needed sleep after the hectic events of the day. Only a few flickering street lights lined the dusty paths that surrounded the aluminum shacks, and he stalked from shadow to shadow as he searched out the home he knew Ayahe to be staying in. He stopped below the stairway of a home built up on a concrete platform nearly as tall as him, then circled around until he saw a blinded window with light peaking through the slits.

Stooping over, he picked up a rock and tossed it at the window, rattling the metal blinds.

Nothing.

He did it again, accidentally throwing the rock straight through a gap in the blinds and into the home. While he cursed his perfect aim, the blinds drew up and a tentacled head appeared in the window.

"Nomalu ichi—" Ayahe shouted, stopping when she saw who stood outside waiting for her. The blinds closed again and he heard talking within the home, then the bang of a metal door as the young Twi'lek came out onto the porch. Her left leg was in a metal brace, and she walked with the aid of a wooden support that was more crude of a walking stick than a true medical crutch. After some awkward navigation of the steps, she landed on the ground and walked over to him. He quickly reached into his pocket and fished out the Kyber crystal, then held it out to her. She marvelled at it, caught up in an elegance only she could perceive.

"Take it, it's yours," he said. She looked from him to the crystal, then snatched it away from him in the blink of an eye. He smirked and let his hand drop to his side.

Muffled talking came from within the home she had just left, and Torin pointed at the building. "Do you like your family?" he said.

She frowned. "_Not _family."

"Right, not family."

Her expression eased and she glanced back at the home. "But... good."

"That's good."

The door opened and a Twi'lek's head peaked out, looking at Torin for a moment before pulling back inside. A strange man had just lured a young girl from their home with the promise of a shiny trinket—he decided it was time to say his goodbyes.

"Well, goodnight." He waved to the Twi'lek and began to walk away. After a few moments he heard her make a noise, somewhere between a shout and a cough, and turned to look at her.

She swallowed and glared at him intensely, then pointed at her chest. "Ayahe," she said.

He smiled and nodded. "Right, I remember."

"You—come again." She pointed at the ground in front of her.

"I'll certainly try," he said—and he meant it. But he couldn't promise it—he was done making promises he didnt know if he could keep. With that he left, taking the road that lead to the temple before heading off onto the forest path towards his home. As he walked he saw the moon, reflected in the woodland lake he passed every time he took that route. At first, looking at it had called to mind the panicked, claustrophobic sensation of drowning after Ziare had thrown him in. Now, it was only a lake.

He took the lightsaber from his pants pocket and held it up to the moonlight with one hand, rolling it one way, then the other. With his other hand he reached out delicately with the Force and unwound the gold threading from it, winding the Electrum into a single dense ball that he then pocketed. With no Kyber crystal or the remnants of Vathamma's personal touch, the saber was reduced to a mere weapon—one that didnt even work. He lowered the hilt and held it in his palm, tossing it up and down for a moment as if to check for any lingering value it may hold. With a heave of the arm he tossed it into the lake, breaking the quiet of the forest with a soft splash. As the ripples faded away and the saber sunk into the murky depths, he felt nothing. Everything he could have lost already had been—this was just a hunk of metal.

Returning home, he found Ziare waiting for him in the entryway. She had a grim look on her face, as if she were about to deliver some unwanted news.

"Today has made something clear to me," she said. He stopped a good distance away from her and waited on pins & needles for whatever judgment she was about to hand down. "You will never fully embrace the Jedi code."

His eyes went wide in horror and he stormed over to her. "Wait, hold on!" She met his shock with placid calm, remaining still as a statue. "I can do better, alright? I'll meditate, I'll sit in a cave—" His words became choked, and he grabbed her arms with both hands and hung his head. "Don't stop training me. This is all I've got."

"Will you abandon all passion?" said Ziare. "Can you swear off all ties and attachments that chain you to your emotions?"

His terrified expression grew frustrated and he stepped back from her. "No, I can't. Is that what you wanted to hear?" The small alcove filled with his shouts. "I told you that when I met you, didnt I? If I see injustice, I'll fight it, and I won't let politics stop me."

"Then you are ready for the next stage in your training," said Ziare. Torin lowered his arms and stared at her, dumbfounded. "You passed your trial, you see."

"My _trial? _Are you saying you arranged everything that happened?"

She opened her mouth as if to laugh, but simply smiled. "My, no. Fate arranged it, and I judged the results."

He remained quiet for a moment. "I'm not getting kicked out?"

"I told you that you were my second chance, did I not?" He nodded in response. "I would not throw that away so easily."

Torin let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall. His anger had left, leaving him tired. After some thought, he back-tracked to something Ziare had just said. "The next stage in my training?"

"In the field, as it were. I need to leave Tython again."

"How soon?"

"Tonight."

"You're kidding." He leaned back and hung his arms limply behind him. "I'm exhausted."

"Come." She walked past him and waved him along with her out the front door of the home. "You can sleep on the way there."

"The way _where?"_

"Onderon," she replied. "I received word of a relic recovered there—a Holocron. There is some... urgency attached to our retrieving it."

He followed her outside as they walked through the forest towards the Temple and its starport.

"You're worried the Onderonians might keep it once they realize what it is?"

"No, they want it gone as much as we want to take it." He stared at her, and she continued walking in silence until she realized he wanted further answers. "This galaxy is complicated, Torin. I will explain _everything _—I promise." He frowned and stopped for a moment, but eventually relented and jogged after her. Explanations seemed to be in short supply, no matter how much she promised them.

They came to the temple and boarded Ziare's waiting cruiser, leaving behind a building and world that had long since went to sleep. Despite the fact that he was escorting a respected Master, their departure felt akin to sneaking out of one's parents home without permission. Sitting in the co-pilot's chair, he waited for Ziare to chart their course and switch on the auto-pilot before he broached any more serious matters.

"Earlier, you asked if I could abandon all attachment, and I said I couldn't," he said to his Master. Ziare looked over at him from the pilot's seat. "You acted like that was the right answer."

"There are no right answers. But I have often found myself wondering what life would be like if I had not abandoned my_... attachments _as the Order commanded." Her fingers wound tightly around the control stick of the craft, despite the fact that the autopilot had long since taken over.

"I don't like to play 'what-ifs'." Mostly because they were so often painful to consider, he thought.

"What if I had a family," she mused aloud, as if taking his reply as a challenge. "What if I had children?"

He smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you would've made a great mom."

Ziare's face snapped towards him, her eyebrows raised and jaw clenched tight. He withdrew his hand and looked away, worried that he had overstepped his bounds. She rose from her chair, and Torin cursed his thoughtless comment as he prepared for his Master to go to the back of the ship. Instead, she slid between him and the console in front of his seat and leaned over, turning the armrests of his chair down.

He swallowed hard and looked up at her as she slid onto his lap, facing him with her legs sticking out past the back of the chair. Arms shaking like leaves, he reached around and held her by the small of her back. There was no mistaking what this meant. No danger of misinterpreted signals or double meanings.

She hunched over and pressed her lips to his, then pulled back and rested her forehead on his while meeting his eyes with an unbroken stare. Then she leaned further forward still, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips to his. It was not a passionate kiss, but it was warm, and it was loving. Time seemed to vanish and Torin's hands slid down her sides as he melted in her embrace. He could have done more-explored her body with his hands, pull her robe down over her shoulders-but he didn't. It felt as if the smallest move would upset the precarious balance they had found, and he wanted nothing more than for the moment to never end.

But nothing lasts forever, and eventually time slipped back between the two. They stopped moving, both he and his Master resting against each other while they caught their breath. She tried to stand up off of him, but he wrapped his arms tight and pulled her close. After a few minutes more, she again tried to slide off and he relented, allowing her to pry his hands from her as she staggered off of his lap and went to the bedroom at the rear of the ship. He did not see her for another hour.

When she did return to the cockpit, they did not talk about what they'd just done, and any other conversation was brief. The rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and they reached their intended destination.

As their ship descended into Onderon's atmosphere, the first thing to strike Torin was how _big _everything was. Towering trees, monstrous cattle, and sprawling farmland lay on one side of a massive wall. On the other side was the planetary capital of Iziz, made up of stone buildings of blue and yellow that looked as ancient as the gargantuan barrier protecting them from whatever dangers lay outside the fortress city.

"The Sky Walls." Ziare pointed out the window. "Every decade or two, they move them outwards another twenty miles."

Their cruiser flew out of view of the wall, and another huge structure came into view—the spaceport. It looked more like a palace than a travel hub, and probably _had _been the former at some point in the city's rich and storied past. Ziare brought the ship down through one of the open roofs in the temple, setting down in a space that housed half a dozen other small ships like their own. Out the front window, Torin could see what looked to be a greeting party. Three uniformed military officials in olive tunics, flanked by a banner-carrying band in full metal armor of red and white.

"Quite the welcome," Torin said.

"Do not be fooled—those are Onderon's internal security forces." She rose from her chair, and Torin followed her to the exit ramp.

"Secret police?"

"They're harmless enough. Onderon's politics are complex, and its government is paranoid. Our every move will be watched carefully."

They left the ship and met their welcoming party. A short officer with broad shoulders and a scowl that looked to be chiseled into his face stepped forward, giving a curt salute to Ziare.

"Welcome to Iziz, Master Jedi." No bow, Torin noted—not that he himself felt particularly insulted. "I am Colonel Haret."

Ziare pressed her palms together in front of her and lowered her head. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Colonel—and to be welcomed to your city."

The colonel chewed on his lip, as if deciding whether or not he had extended the minimal amount of courtesy required of him by whomever had put him in charge of escorting the Jedi. "It's a pity you won't be here long enough to sight-see." He clicked his heels together and did an about-face, then walked through the group of soldiers behind him. "Please, follow me."

They followed Haret to a cruiser waiting outside the starport, leaving the bulk of their military escort in the rearview mirror as their driver took them through the city, with Haret in the front passenger seat. The boulevards were clear of most other vehicles, but occasionally they had to stop for a herd of livestock or a procession of hooded worshippers passing from side street to side street that cut between the chimney'd buildings. Iziz looked to be a city caught between two worlds, outdated architecture and customs mish mashed together with modern technology and institutions.

The car stopped, and for a moment Torin expected to see some beggar crossing the road in front of them, but there was nothing. They were stopped on a small street smack in the middle of a residential neighborhood. What was more, there wasn't a single soul in sight. Haret and his driver got out of the vehicle, and the Jedi followed.

"It is here?" Ziare said.

The colonel waved them towards the awning-shaded entryway of a modest home. "We didn't want to move it."

They entered the home, and the two Onderon soldiers stopped in the entryway as Haret pointed to a doorway down the hall. Once Ziare and Torin had entered it he closed the wooden door behind them, leaving the Jedi alone with their artifact. The room was a workshop of sorts, with tools hung from cork boards and droids in varying stages of refurbishment stashed up against the walls. A space was cleared on one of the work tables, and on it sat small pyramid of gray metal and cloudy fiberglass.

"Seems a bit overkill," Torin mused to his Master. "They evacuated a neighborhood for this?"

"It is not such a silly thing. Knowledge is dangerous, after all." Ziare walked over to the artifact and placed a hand atop the silvery cap. "Why would a government ban weapons, or news service?"

The line of questioning took him by surprise, and he took a moment to think. "To control people."

She nodded thoughtfully, back still turned to him. "And why does the Jedi Order prohibit learning about anything that scrapes at the edges of what they call the Dark Side?"

Torin nearly answered as he just had a moment ago, but gave the matter some more thought. "They're worried about students falling to it?"

Ziare didn't reply, instead changing the subject once again. "Do you know what the Jedi Order says of love?"

Torin thought for a moment. "It's forbidden. They say it can lead to attachment and jealousy."

Ziare nodded. "And the Dark Side. Do you know what the _Sith, _students of the Dark Side, say of love?"

That, he could recite far better. "That the attachment weakens you—and your ability to control the Force."

She looked back at him. "How can both of those be true?"

He had never thought about it. "They can't."

"And yet Sith and Jedi alike wield immense power, despite contradicting beliefs." Her hands fell from the relic and she began to pace about the room. "That was the first contradiction I saw in the Jedi teachings—the first of many. The more I thought, the more cracks formed in my beliefs until they were shattered entirely." She stopped and folded her hands behind her back. "What would you say if I told you the Sith and Jedi were the same?"

He frowned. "That's ridiculous. I've seen what the Sith are responsible for."

"Like what?"

"Slavery, murder, tyranny—"

"Can you not find those on a thousand Republic worlds?"

"You can't blame that on the Jedi." At least, he never _had._

"Directly? No. Those atrocities fester due to their inaction."

"You might be right, but that's just how people are."

"Exactly," she said. "That is because there is no Dark Side, no Light Side—there are _people. _Good people, evil people."

Torin looked at her, taken aback. "Are you saying there's no Force?"

"No, I am saying that there is only _The Force, _one and indivisible. Dark and light are two sides of its single face, and the brighter it shines, the darker a shadow it casts."

"You say that like it's a creature."

"That is closer to the truth than you realize. Never before had I considered the possibility of a cosmic will beyond our own. Not until I found a holocron much like this one." She picked up the small pyramid in both hands and gazed into it. "I did not understand the teachings within—not at first. So I went into the cave on Tython and I meditated until I saw it. I saw how to save _everyone."_

He looked at her with no small amount of unease. He'd never seen her this animated before. "Save them from what?"

"I will explain everything, but not now." She walked towards him, carrying the holocron. "Just know that the Force has a plan for you—as it does for us all." She stopped in front of him. "Your actions shaped the galaxy. I would have you do so again."

'How?' He wanted to ask her, but she was already out the door with the Holocron in hand. They left the building and returned to the starport, shown the way by a military escort who were not sad to be rid of the two Jedi. As soon as they boarded Ziare's cruiser, the Jedi went to store the holocron in the rear of the ship, then took a seat in the pilot's chair to depart the planet and plot a course home. More exhausted than ever, Torin excused himself to one of the cot-equipped bedrooms past the cargo bay and laid down, confident that he would be able to drift off to sleep immediately—but sleep did not come.

He lay awake, questioning what Ziare was doing—and what _he _was doing following her. Had he not already learned his lesson about blindly following a Master, now matter how confident he was in her judgement? The fact that he was so enamored with the woman was all the more reason to be cautious. His _own _judgment was compromised—he couldn't see things clearly.

Swinging his tapping foot off of the cot, he peaked out the bedroom and saw no sign of Ziare in the cargo bay. Stepping lightly, he searched the shelves lining the long room for the box he had seen her store the holocron in. After a few moments he spotted it, a simple white crate of cool plasteel that lay heavy in his hands as he slid it off the shelf and set it gingerly down on the floor. As he slid the lid off and caught a glimpse of the metallic pyramid, he heard whispers. His head snapped to the left, expecting to see Ziare standing in the doorway—but there was no one. The noise disappeared just as quickly, leaving him confused and setting him on edge. He slid the lid off the rest of the way, then took the holocron in his hands and ran his fingers over it until he found a means of activating the device. A quick twist of the gray cap, and the computer within came to life.

Above the holocron was projected an elderly woman. Her dark robe covered all but the lower half of her face and the twin braids hanging down to her chest. Despite the fact that this was a mere computerized projection, it felt as if he could feel the cold, gnawing presence of the woman it has presented to him. "My name is not important." She spoke with a slow, measured voice that carried the weight of many years. "I have no grand secrets or techniques to reveal."

"What the..." Torin muttered under his breath. A noise came from the bridge, this one much clearer than the whispers he had heard. Acting quickly, he switched the holocron off and dropped it into the box, then closed it up and slid it back onto the shelf. Walking back to the cockpit, he saw that Ziare had dozed off in her chair and was jerking her foot against the center console. He took a seat next to her, not particularly wanting to chance another crack at the relic they had retrieved. Once they arrived on Tython, then he would ask his Master about it—that was for certain.

Eventually Ziare awoke, and the last hour of their trek back passed in less awkward silence than the trip there, the solid reality of their dealings on Onderon seeming to cut through the soft tension that had built up between the two after what they had done in the chair where Torin once again sat. Tython came into view, but it was not the idyllic marble of green-and-blue that he remembered. A bloody swathe of red and black cut across the surface, a scorched wound that came into full view as they circled around the planet towards the Jedi Temple.

He looked at Ziare in horror. "What's happening?"

She used the ship's communicator to make a call. The grim face of Grand Master Satele Shan appeared on screen, her narrow eyes glancing away every few seconds as if this were not the only call she were busy with.

"Master Ziare. We've been unable to reach Tython—"

"I'm in orbit now—it's under siege."

"By whom?"

"You know who." Torin could guess, as well. It wasn't pirates, or Black Sun, or the Hutt Cartel—only one group in the galaxy would dare risk an attack on the very heart of the Jedi Order. The Sith Empire had discovered the location of the new Jedi Temple, and had come to raze it, just as they had done to the first. "This isn't about the Temple," Ziare continued. "We both know what they're after."

"But _how? _We told no one!"

"For now, you _need _to tell me where you've hidden the Mass Shadow Generator. We can only hope I'm not too late."

Shan remained silent for a few moments, but eventually relented. "There is a cave—and inside of it, a vault. I'm sending you the coordinates and passcode now."

Ziare glanced at the communicator, then punched the coordinates into the flight computer. "Thank you. Hopefully we will speak again soon."

"May the Force be with you, Master Ziare."

She nodded and ended the call.

Torin stared at her in shock. "That weapon _survived? _And the Jedi have it?"

"Soon the Empire will, if we do not make haste."

He sat back in his seat and held onto his seat harness. "Alright, fine—but later, were talking about this."

She brought the ship down into the atmosphere well before they reached the Sith armada that hung in space above the Temple. With the attackers' efforts focused on preventing anyone from fleeing the complex, no one noticed a lone ship slipping _into _the outskirts of the raging battle.

Torin scanned the mountainous skyline, looking for Kalikori village and trying to judge how far the fighting had spread. But it was too dark, too chaotic a scene for him to do anything other than search frantically while his mind went over all of the awful things that could befall the helpless girl he had left there. They landed before he could locate the village, and he and his Master walked out the exit ramp into a mountainous clearing while he tried to get his bearings in the night expanse.

"This way." She motioned towards a path leading up into the mountainside, away from the fighting.

"I can't!" he replied, casting an anguished look in the other direction. "I need to go to Kalikori village—then I'll come back here!" His feet started moving away from Ziare, and she frowned and move towards him before stopping and hanging her head.

"Make haste," she said. "And be safe."

He only barely heard the last of her words as he took off running down the mountain trail, letting the Force flow through his limbs and propel him at fearsome speed towards the village. It was hard to see at those speeds—even harder to turn—and he only narrowly avoided crashing headlong into thick pines and rough boulders as he beat a path through the woods. The sounds of open warfare grew louder and clearer. The thunder of exploding ordinance, the hail of blaster fire, the whirr of speeders—

Something flew by Torin, and he threw himself to the side in time to dodge a one-man speeder that zoomed by. He smashed into the ground, rolling on leaves and dirt before a tree root in the ribs brought him to an abrupt stop. An electric net buried itself harmlessly in a tree ahead of him, just barely having missed its intended target. Scrambling to his feet, he reached out towards the speeder that had just begun to turn back towards him. With the Force he pulled, yanking the front half of the vehicle off and sending the other half—and its occupant—into an abrupt crash landing.

A heavily armored figure rolled off of the bike, metal armor clanking until he came to a stop and staggered upright. He wore the segmented, plated plasteel of a Mandalorian, and his head was covered by a helmet with a T-shaped visor. Using his left hand, Torin lifted the man into the air as he walked towards him, and held his right hand out as well, preparing to crush the man's armor—with him inside.

"Hey—watch where you point that thing," said the Mandalorian.

Torin's mouth fell open and he let his right hand drop down. "Maliss?"

Her arm pointed towards him and a dart shot out her wrist. Electricity coursed through his body, turning him into a spasming wreck on the ground while Maliss fell safely to her feet. The armored woman pulled a rifle from her back and walked towards him, then held it high before bringing the butt of the weapon down on his head.


	7. Here's To You

The Ministry of Intelligence was no busier than usual, but its director was caught in a flurry of excitement. Her footsteps echoed in the grand hall leading out to Dromund Kaas as she left to go make preparations for a long-anticipated homecoming. She avoided catching the eyes of anyone passing her, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation that would see her delayed.

There seemed to be no end to the petitioners and supplicants who sought out someone with her station—most of them with insultingly obvious agendas. She could not blame Imperial officials and Sith for attempting to play the game of politics—she only wished they would do her the courtesy of being competent opponents.

Footsteps sounded behind her, a walking pace that turned into a run. Vathamma sighed and rolled her eyes, then turned around to see a uniformed man jogging towards. He was Chiss, a reclusive race that held a special—and rare—place of privilege in the xenophobic Empire. With deep blue skin, red eyes, and neat black hair, he looked every bit the exemplar of his species.

"What?" Vathamma shouted at him. "What is it?"

"Cipher Nine." The man stopped before her and pressed his arms to his sides, then gave a shallow bow. "I hoped to speak with you."

"You couldn't speak with me while I was in my office? Or tomorrow? It has to be now?" The agent remained silent, and Vathamma waved a hand towards herself. "Come, out with it."

"Have you had a chance to look over my reports on the Star Cabal?"

Vathamma flapped a hand dismissively. "Ah, yes. One of Keeper's many blunders before I inherited his ministry. How many conspiracies did he let fester under his watch?"

The agent opened his mouth as if to object to her assessment before simply frowning and continuing with his intended matter. "They had many high-placed agents, and wanted to destroy both the Sith and Jedi orders."

Vathamma smirked. "I read the reports. An absurd goal—and a failed one. Why bother me with this?"

"They did fail, yes, but something has been happening lately that concerns me." He handed the Sith a tablet with data displayed on the screen. "The Star Cabal was broken, but their assets are still out there—and recently, many have simply vanished. Starships, credit accounts, personnel..."

Vathamma frowned. "We know about this, but haven't stopped it?"

"We only know the location of these assets due to the Black Codex recovered from the cabal. Many of them are located in Republic or neutral space. Retrieving them would be... difficult. Politically and otherwise."

"So there is another codex out there? One being used to locate the cabal's unused resources?"

"That's the thing, my Lady. There was only ever _one _codex—that was the whole point of it. And it is still safely housed in our vaults. No one has accessed it except our own agents."

"Are you implying someone in the ministry is passing information to outsiders?"

"That is one possibility. The other is that whomever is gathering the Cabal's old resources has some other means of knowing their whereabouts."

"A remaining member?"

The agent nodded. "One who knows where the skeletons were buried, as it were."

"I was under the impression they were left leaderless." At the agent's hand, is what she left unsaid.

"Which would make it all the easier for someone to rally their remaining followers."

"How is it these conspirators are still running free? Did my predecessor not put bounties on their heads?"

"He did, but those bounties carry less weight in neutral and Republic space—even here, some of them have managed to evade capture."

Vathamma ran two fingers up and down the length of her jaw as she thought. "The codex contained a complete list of their membership, correct?"

"Yes, that is part of what is served as."

"I'll have the codex released for analysis. We'll cross-reference the vanished assets with recent intelligence chatter—and whomever on that list still lives."

"A very good plan, my Lady."

"Yes, it is." Vathamma handed him back the datapad. "You'll coordinate the rest of this with your Watcher, Cipher Nine. There is nothing I detest more than micromanagement."

The agent bowed and waited for the Sith to turn away from him, then headed back towards the ministry's command center.

* * *

Torin awoke to a low rumble that shook his brain in his skull and made the bench below him rattle against the wall. Cold metal surrounded his hands and wrists, and he couldn't move them an inch from where they were held behind him. He lifted his head and saw that he was sitting in the cargo hold of a small ship. There were no windows to see out of, but judging from the ship's movement and the lack of any other noise, he had to guess they were moving through space—or hyperspace—rather than Tython's atmosphere.

Across from him, an armored figure removed her visored helmet and set it down on the bench opposite him. The sides of her head were shaved, and the rest of her red hair was tied into a ponytail that hung just past the base of her neck. She cocked her head to the side slightly as she unfastened her breastplate, revealing a burn mark that covered the right side of her head, curving up and around her ear.

His eyes went wide with surprise and he winced audibly, feeling a sting of pain around his left eye where he had been struck.

"Look who's awake," Maliss said, setting the top half of her armor down before turning around to face him.

"Where am I?" he mumbled groggily.

"You're on your way to Dromund Kaas." She bent over and yanked off her metal boots, then began undoing the latches on the armor wrapped around her thighs.

"Dromund—" he started, then twisted his head back to look at his shackled hands as he tried to twist free. Whatever she had done to him, he couldn't use the Force to break his cuffs. "Take me back to Tython, now!"

"No can do." She shook her ponytail as the last of her armor fell away. "This is a paying job, and there's some people who want to have a chat with you." With her armor gone, the Mandalorian wore nothing but gray tights and a similarly covered top that left a few inches of her midriff exposed.

Maliss sauntered towards him and leaned over, examining his face before grimacing and poking his bruised eye socket. "Sorry about that. I don't know my own strength."

Willing the power of the Force into his words, he spoke to her. "I'm ordering you to take me back to Tython."

She smirked. "Only people with credits get to order me. So unless you walked into an inheritance—"

He pulled his head back and then whipped it forward, smashing his forehead into her nose.

She shouted in pain and brought a hand up to her face. "You little asshole!"

Torin couldn't undo his cuffs, but he _could _use the Force to strip them off the wall entirely. A strip of metal peeled off the metal surface behind him, and he stood up from the bench. Turning his attention back forward, he grabbed Maliss by the throat and lifted her into the air as he took a few steps towards her.

"I don't have credits, but I _do _have_—__"_

Before he could finish, the levitating woman swung her legs up and wrapped them around his neck, then brought his head forward until his face was nearly pressed to her stomach. Her thighs squeezed him tightly, strong muscles stopping the flow of air and blood to his head. His focus wavered and he let his grip on the woman's neck relax. She fell to the floor, pulling Torin with her as both collapsed to the ground.

"God _damn," _she said in exasperation, then stood up and yanked him to his feet by his shackled hands. She threw him back onto the bench and stood in front of him, panting as she struggled to catch her breath.

"No 'nice to see you'?" she said to him. "No 'glad youre alive'?"

He rested the side of his head against a metal strut running up the wall.

"I'm glad you're alive," he muttered, then looked up at her. "How _are _you alive?"

"You did a number on Andar's ship, but some of the modules rode it out alright. I got lucky."

He swallowed, wetting his dry mouth. "What about Nomi and my Mast—Vathamma? Did you see what happened to them?"

The Mandalorian shook her head. "I didn't see."

He slumped against the wall and stared off vacantly. "Oh."

She wrinkled her lips and walked back over to him. "If I take those cuffs off, are you gonna promise to be good?"

"Fine."

She threw a foot up on the bench beside him and leaned around his back to undo his restraints. As soon as they dropped to the floor, he got up and walked to the back of the ship. Reaching the end of a short hallway with two rooms on either side, he stopped and leaned his head against one of the door frames.

Again he'd been ripped away from a place—and people—he called home. His sole comfort was the confidence he had that Ziare had made it off of Tython safely. He had good reason to believe that—she had landed well away from the battle, and she was beyond capable—but he also felt it, deep in his being.

The creak of metal grating came from his right, and he saw Maliss approaching him with two half-filled glasses in hand. "Maybe that wasn't the best way for us to meet again," she said, stopping beside him. "But we're gonna be stuck together for the next day and half, so let's try and get along... alright?"

She handed him one of the glasses and he downed the bitter alcohol in one go. "Alright." He pushed off of the door frame and turned to her. "I'm still going back to Tython as soon as we reach Dromund Kaas."

"Hey, fine with me. I'll still get paid." She took a swig of her own drink and tossed the empty glass back towards the bridge. When she looked down at him again, her expression grew concerned. "You alright? You don't look so good."

Come to think of it, he did feel hot. He'd chalked it up to the liquor, but the heat kept growing and growing, spreading out from his stomach to every corner of his body.

"I feel... weird," he mumbled. He brought a hand to his forehead and found it slick with sweat. As he ran his palm across it the pressure made his vision swim and he stumbled into the wall beside him.

"Woa!" Maliss grabbed him by the shoulder. "You really can't take a blow to the head, can you?"

Ducking her head, Maliss lead him through a small doorway and sat him down on a bed. It was big enough, but the mattress was hard, little more than a cot atop a metal platform welded to the wall. Other than that, the room was no better furnished than the cargo hold.

Still dripping with sweat and breathing so hard he thought he might pass out, Torin pulled off the shirt that clung to his back. Maliss helped him and tossed it to the floor, then sat down on the bed beside him as he leaned back and propped himself up by his arms while his head tilted back towards the ceiling.

A hand pressed to his chest and he looked down to see Maliss' broad palm flat over his heart. "Jesus, you're goin' a mile a minute." She looked from his chest to his face and locked eyes with him. Suddenly he felt very conscious of this woman, someone he had been close to for weeks at a time with nary a stray thought. Now, he realized, she _was _a woman. A woman with flowing red hair, brilliant green eyes, soft breasts that pressed into his side as she leaned into him...

He swallowed and looked away again. "I'm fine."

Maliss ran her hand from his chest to his abdomen. "Why are you breathin' so hard?" A finger nearly slipped past the waistline of his pants, and he wrenched her hand from his body and looked her in the eyes. She didn't pull back from his grip. Instead, she put her other hand on his belly, rubbing it up and down as they sat in warm silence.

Heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his skull, Torin leaned in towards Maliss' face, but she turned her head to the side.

"No kissing," she said.

He pulled back and ran a hand up her stomach until his fingers brushed the underside of her breasts. The woman jolted on the bed, as if he had touched some raw nerve. Whatever fever dream he had been caught up in seemed to break for a moment, and he withdrew his hand and shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know what I'm—"

She glared back out of the corner of her eye. "If I _want _you to stop, I'll _tell _you to stop," she snapped. "Be a man and take the lead."

His hand traveled back down her torso, stopping where her undershirt ended and her supple skin began. He gripped the hem of the garment with both hands and pulled it upwards, peeling it off the woman's body as she raised her arms above her head. Her breasts fell free of the shirt, hanging above her muscled abdomen. She hunched over slightly and moved an arm in front of her chest in a bizarre display of modesty he couldn't quite mesh with the brash mercenary he'd come to know.

"You're really beautiful," he said, reassuring the anxious-looking woman while he tried to ignore the heat that felt like it might cook him alive. "I don't know why I didn't notice before, but now..."

He trailed off, catching his breath as he placed his left hand on her right, gently moving her arm away from her chest and then leaning down to plant his lips on her soft breast. She fell backwards in slow motion, Torin falling atop her on the bed as his lips moved up to her neck.

He sat back up and pulled off his pants as Maliss shifted into position on the bed, maneuvering so that she lay lengthwise across the mattress. Torin crawled back onto the bed and hooked his fingers into her tights, rolling the gray pants down her legs until he was able to yank them free of her ankles.

"Enough foreplay," the Mandalorian said. "Get on with it already."

What followed were the longest and most awkward few minutes of his life. Maliss avoided meeting his eyes while he moved on top of her, all while she made strained expressions and low grunts that could not even generously be called moans of pleasure. Finally he collapsed on top of her, and she immediately rolled him off of her and onto the bed.

He panted, staring up at the paneled ceiling while he waited for Maliss to say something. Already his head felt clearer, the fire in his belly subsiding. Whatever irrational lust had overtaken him left, and he felt as if he were now laying in bed next to an older cousin. It was not a comfortable feeling. The silence dragged on, and the urge to slip out of bed grew. He would have done so, if it hadn't felt akin to fleeing the scene of a crime.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked him. He froze for a moment, fearful that she was about to confess her undying love to him—but he realized that was almost definitely not what she had in mind. Torin thought back to the first time he had met Nomi on Balmorra and nearly butted heads with her in his bedroom. His mind then turned to Vathamma, and the certain death he had embraced after pushing her back towards Lord Andar's ship in a futile attempt to save her life.

"Yeah."

"I'd like to feel that," the woman said. "Or something like it."

Her words would have been endearing if she were a young woman. "You've never been in love?"

"Maybe once." She put her hands on her stomach and rubbed her thumbs together. "Until she said it would never work, that the galaxy would never let us be together." An angry expression looked back at him. "It's amazing how romantic someone can sound when they're tellin' you to fuck off."

Unsure of whether he was supposed to find that funny or join in her anger, he simply murmured in agreement. "What about family? You said you have a sister."

Maliss' frown deepened and she kicked the wall at the foot of the bed. "Shae can jump in a Sarlacc pit for all I care." Her expression softened and she sighed. "I loved my brother."

"Is he..."

"Dead." She stated it without a hint of hesitation.

"What happened?" Like anyone who had lived long enough, Torin had dead family. There was no word more empty than 'sorry', but he appreciated being asked about them; maybe the Mandalorian felt similarly.

"It was the first war—before the treaty of Coruscant. He was killed by a Jedi in battle. I heard about it an hour after I got my Officer's commission." She held a single finger aloft. "Best day of my life to the worst day in one hour."

"Vathamma said you got court martialed that day."

Maliss squinted at the ceiling and scratched the side of her head. The memory seemed more _embarrassing _for her than traumatic. "I may have lost it a bit when I heard he died."

"So you sent thousands of men to their deaths?"

She shrugged and pulled the covers up. "I felt like, 'why should they get to live if he doesn't?' I know that doesn't make sense, but it's what was going through my head."

It wasn't just nonsensical, it was monstrous. Even now she didnt seem regretful of what she'd done. "I don't understand that at all."

She remained silent for a moment. "How do you feel when you kill someone?"

The new line of questioning had him screwing up his face in revulsion. "Awful."

Maliss shook her head and clicked her teeth. "I don't get that. Not usually, at least."

"Would you kill me if someone paid you enough?"

His joking smile turned to a tight-lipped grimace as Maliss rolled onto her side and held a hand to his throat. "I don't know, maybe." Her fingers squeezed lightly into the sides of his neck, then released just as quickly. "I'd feel bad about it, though."

"I'll take what I can get."

Her mouth twitched into a brief smile and she stared into his eyes. "You know, you look like him—my brother." A bit of an awkward thing to mention, he thought, given what they'd just done. "My sister went a bit crazy when he died, too. Started hunting Jedi and doing jobs for the Empire. Even worked with Darth Malgus a few times."

"You didn't want revenge?"

"Oh, I did, but I'm smarter than her." She tapped her forehead. "She blamed the Jedi, when Mandalore could've ended up on the other side of the war just as easily. Jedi, Sith—it's all the same. Pious freaks and zealots." She tapped his foot with hers under the covers. "Not like you and me—normal people."

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "You know I can use the Force, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, but—" The words seemed to escape her. This wasn't a woman who was used to waxing philosophical. "You're an outsider looking in. Don't you feel like you don't belong anywhere?"

"It doesn't help that I keep getting kidnapped."

Maliss stared at him for a few moments, then reached both hands out towards him and pressed on his side until he slid off the bed and fell to the floor in a flail of limbs.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and grabbing a sheet to wrap around his waist.

"I'm tired, and I hate sharing a bed when I'm tryin' to sleep." She rolled over onto her side facing away from him, and Torin grabbed his clothes up off the floor.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

She grunted, and he stormed out of the bedroom. "Flight console is locked!" she yelled after him. "Mess with it and I'll kneecap you!"

* * *

Having spent much of the remaining trip laying in bed listening to the soft rumble of the ship's hyperdrive, Torin felt the hum lower in frequency as they dropped back into normal space, then increase again as the atmosphere of Dromund Kaas buffeted the vessel on their final descent to Kaas city. He didnt particularly care to run to a window and catch a glimpse of what was undoubtedly a very impressive—and very dreary—capital of an empire. He didn't plan on staying long.

What he _did _need to do was to begin working on a way to escape the planet. Maliss had played dumb when pressed on who had hired her to 'retrieve' him—an awfully kind term for what was essentially kidnapping and rendition. Was it someone with an interest in what he knew of Tython? Someone with a personal vendetta for his actions alongside Vathamma? There were no shortage of possibilities, but none seemed particularly compelling. Why hire Maliss, of all people?

On the one hand, she _had _gotten the drop on him when he'd let his guard down at the sound of her voice. Still, everything about this felt odd.

"You ready?" Maliss stood in the doorway of his room. In her hand was a blaster, pointed right at him.

"I suppose I am." Eyes transfixed on the pistol, he rose from the bed. "Where are you taking me?"

She stepped aside from the doorway and waved him through. "The Ministry of Intelligence."

His heart skipped a beat and he stumbled over the doorway's edge. Imperial Intelligence was something of a bogeyman to him, even before he had first left Republic space. Torture, manipulation, extortion—its operatives had every bit of it down to a fine art. Maliss might as well have told him they were headed to a meeting with the Dark Council itself.

"What do they want with me?" he asked as she led him down the ramp of the ship and into the starport hangar.

"Just some questions, is all."

_Questions. _He almost laughed. Whatever questions they wanted to ask—about Tython, or the Jedi Order, or his Master—were not ones he would be willing to answer. But that wouldn't stop his interrogators. They would eventually break him, and he would spill his guts. It was a matter of _when, _not _if._

"You're going to hand me to those animals?" he asked, his voice shaking.

Maliss sighed and kept stomping down the metal ramp. "Don't be so dramatic. You'll be fine—"

While she spoke, he spun around and used the Force to pull the blaster from her hand and into his own. Pain lanced through his right hand, reminding him that his wounds may have healed, but his scars remained.

"You think I'm gonna go quietly?" He pointed the gun at her, eyes narrowed in quiet anger.

She forced a smile and raised her hands up by her head. As she did so, her right arm shot towards him and something flew out of her sleeve jacket towards him. Torin raised two fingers from the blaster, stopping the dart before it could reach him. Flicking his fingers back, he sent it flying at Maliss, whose smile quickly turned to an expression of sheer pain as she collapsed onto the ground under the weight of thousands of volts.

Torin took off running, shoving aside dock workers and customs officials as he fled from the hangar into the starport terminal. The thick crowds slowed him down, but they also made it easier to blend in. Peeking backwards, he saw a furious redheaded woman stumbling into the hall, scanning the crowds for her prey.

Torin shoved his way towards the building's exit, drawing angry shouts that brought the Mandalorian's attention in his direction. He ran as fast as he could, glancing back every few moments to see that Maliss was gaining on him. She tossed humans and aliens aside, bearing down on him with a scowling expression that wiped away any abstract fears of Imperial Intelligence.

He shot out onto the dark, rain-slicked plaza in front of the starport, and as his focus turned back forward, a black metal barrier that had not been there a moment ago slammed right into him.

Back on the steps of the starport exit behind Torin, Maliss slid to a stop and watched as five armored guards emptied out the back of an armored personnel carrier. Torin lay on the ground beside it, holding his hands to his face as he rolled over onto his stomach. Before he could recover, the guards fell on him, jabbing him in the ribs with stun sticks until he was disabled enough for them to slap a pair of heavy cuffs on his wrists and wrap a black bag around his head. Maliss ran towards them, shouting, but one of the guards drew a blaster from his holster and pointed it at her, bringing the woman to an abrupt halt.

The guards hurried back into their vehicle, taking their incapacitated prisoner with them, and it sped off with the hum of repulsor engines and a blast of hot air that staggered Maliss. She brought her wrist up and furiously tapped on her communicator until she had made a call.

"Tell me those were your people," she said, glancing up as the carrier rounded a street corner.

"Yes, yes," Vathamma replied. "Did you send it?"

Maliss closed her eyes and hung her head. "Yeah, I sent it."

"Then your part in this is done; I'm putting in for your pardon now. Leave Dromund Kaas—I do _not _want my Apprentice seeing you again."

"You're not going to hurt him, are you?"

She could hear the Sith sputtering incredulously on the other end of the audio link.

"I risk my station to rescue him from halfway across the galaxy, and you ask if I'm going to _hurt _him?" Maliss remained silent. "I'll attribute that question to your booze-addled brain."

The call ended, and Maliss lowered her hand with a deep, guttural sigh, then looked up at a dark sky rippled with purple clouds. A few drops of rain struck her face, sliding down her cheeks until she lowered her head and headed back into the starport.


	8. Kicking And Screaming

There is a difference between consciousness and awareness. Torin was still fully awake when they shocked him into submission, injected something into his neck, and slapped a pair of heavy cuffs on him—but he might as well have been knocked out for all the good it did him. All he could hear was the clipped chatter of strange voices just barely audible through his drugged haze.

Rumbles passed through the bench he was sat down on, the engine of some vehicle—it could have been either a speeder or starship, for all he knew. Eventually the noise ceased, and gloves hands wrapped around his arms and pulled him to his feet. From there his world became more voices, the whoosh of doors opening and closing, the scrape of metal flooring against his feet as he was dragged to some unknown destination.

Finally he was put down again, laid out on a diagonal surface before his cuffs were undone and his limbs were restrained. The bag was ripped from his head, and he was confronted with the blindingly bright sight of a well-lit gray room. Cold metal bands restrained his ankles and feet, and he jerked his head from side to side, rocking furiously to try and free himself from the rack he was strapped to. The last of his guards left the small room through the only door, leaving him alone.

Shortly after it closed, the door opened again and a robed figure entered, the armored silhouette just barely recognizable as that of a woman. A metal mask with two eye slits and a vertical slit down the center covered her face, making her appear more like a lifeless wraith than a sentient being.

"Torin Val." Her voice was modulated, filtered through the mask into a cold, hollow echo that barely registered as human.

"Who are you? What the hell is this?" He shook at the restraints, to little effect. The woman silently circled around beside him and touched gloved fingertips to his temple. A sharp jolt shot through his skull, like an electrical current, but subtler. He immediately recognized it as the touch of a Force user. Memories played before his eyes unbidden, wrenched out of his brain until he managed to force her out.

"Show me what happened to you," the woman said. Her hands gripped the sides of his head hard, keeping him still as she called forth memory after memory. Boarding Andar's ship, losing his Master, meeting Ziare, making love to her—he pulled the memories back down as they surfaced, but was unable to prevent his interrogator from seeing much of what he had experienced over the last month and a half. As the flurry of images reached the present, her hands drew away, leaving him gasping from the exertion of keeping such a skilled Force user out of his thoughts.

His interrogator left the room, closing the door behind her as she stepped into an adjoining room. Two Imperial officers stood nearby, watching Torin through a viewing window to the woman's right. She reached up to her face and took off her metal mask, then set it down on a table before putting down the hood of her robe.

The officers glanced at each other nervously, unable to read Vathamma's blank expression. The Sith stalked silently about for a few moments, rubbing the sides of her head with her palms and muttering under her breath, then began tearing at the walls of the room with the Force, clawing metal panels to the floor with horrible scraping noises that had the pair of officers backing away.

"Brainwashing!" she screeched, yanking a metal pipe from the wall as if she aimed to burrow straight through the building. "Manipulation! Mind control!" She spun around to face the Imperials. "Get me Cipher Nine—tell him to come equipped for an interrogation."

The Chiss agent arrived several minutes later, carrying a large briefcase which he set down on the table in front of the viewing window. The other agents frowned in horror at the array of instruments—syringes, vials containing noxious-looking serums, scalpels, and other devices that looked medical in nature. A true torturer was part surgeon, part artist, and all sadist—this was his tool bag.

Cipher Nine looked through the window at the sweaty, panting man laid out on the table. "I've seen the dossier on your... former Apprentice—"

"Current Apprentice," Vathamma corrected him.

"My apologies. On your _current _Apprentice—but I'm unclear on what information you hope to glean from him."

She stared at him aghast and gestured at Torin. "I _want _you to deprogram him! Undo the brainwashing he suffered at the hands of the Jedi!"

The Chiss stared at her pitifully, then looked to the other two agents, who avoided his gaze—and avoided saying what he knew needed to be said. "With all due respect, I've seen no signs of brainwashing. I fear your Apprentice has simply... gone native."

She raised her hand in a fury, as if to choke him, but instead grabbed the edge of the briefcase and swiveled it towards her. "If you can't do your job, then I will."

Vathamma put her mask on and raised her hood back over her head, then heaved the case off of the table and stalked into the interrogation room. Slamming the case down on a table beside Torin, she took out a syringe and vial and began to fill it with a clear fluid.

"What is that?" He angled his head away from her, trying desperately to get away from the syringe moving towards his neck.

"Something to help you remember." The point shot into his jugular and she pressed on the tube, driving the fluid into his veins. His vision grew hazy and shimmered, then took on an otherworldly glow, wreathing everything in a brilliant white light.

His interrogator withdrew the syringe and set it down, then circled behind him and pressed her fingertips to the sides of his head. "Show me everything," she said. "Let's start with what happened aboard Lord Andar's ship."

Memories were called forth, far more vivid than before—and this time, he was powerless to stop them. He was back aboard the flagship, fighting his Master as the Republic fleet fell to the might of the Empire. He could feel the hole being blown in his hand, hear the sizzle of lightsaber against lightsaber, taste the blood flowing into his mouth as a pipe punctured his ribs and scraped his lung.

The woman's hands withdrew, and he was back in the gray interrogation room. He looked around in shock, feeling as if he was being flung backward and forward through time itself. She went to the front of the rack and looked him up and down.

"That was a painful memory." She grabbed his right hand and flipped it over, exposing his palm. "And you still bear the scars." Her hands squeezed his tightly and he shouted in pain, twisting his hand around in her grip. As his cries grew hoarse she released him and patted his hand.

"You fucking lunatic," Torin hissed. "What the hell do you want?"

She remained silent and stripped open his shirt, running a hand down his scarred chest before pressing on it. First lightly, then more forcefully, until all of her weight was leaning on him. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood while his breathing became faster and shallower, then finally broke into an anguished cry.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop!"

After a few more moments and a final, painful push, she pulled back and he sank down in his restraints, rolling his head around in fevered pain.

"You people are sick," he said. "All of you—sick."

"Show me the rest of what happened on that ship," she said. "Show me what happened to your Master." Her hands returned to his head and began sifting through his memories. He saw Vathamma hooking his lightsaber to his belt with tears in her eyes, then the bridge crumpling as they collided with Malgus' station, and finally the two of them floating in the darkness of space.

"Ah..." The woman pulled her hands away. "I see—you killed her."

"Fuck you!" Torin wrenched his head back and spat at the masked face. "You don't know a thing."

"Then perhaps I need to see it again," she said, using her connection with him to view the memory and make him relive it once more. He saw Vathamma drifting off into darkness, experienced awaking on a strange planet, being told that they were dead, and all the grief and turmoil that went along with those ordeals. The memories ended and the room returned. His sight was obscured by tears that ran down his cheeks, and his breathing was frantic.

"You saw it. I saw it. What more do you want?"

What she wanted, apparently, was to see it again—and again, and again. The stretches of time he was drawn down into his own memory grew indistinct in length, and each merciful trip back to reality seemed shorter. He was drowning in grief and sorrow, without being let up for air. Eventually the woman stopped, leaving him a panting, sobbing wreck on the rack. For the next few hours he was left alone. It might have been night time, he could not say—but his captors did not allow him any rest, anyway. Bright lights shone directly on his face from the ceiling, and the blare of a siren would rock his eardrums any time he began nodding off to sleep. It was almost a mercy when his torturer returned.

The second day was no different than the last, but it was worse—far worse. The woman knew exactly what she was doing this time. She knew where to go in his mind, which painful memories to pull up and in what order to play them, like a twisted musician whose instrument was human suffering.

"Why did you kill your Master?" she would ask him, over and over. He offered the woman every answer in the book, crying them out in between intense hallucinations before she could again drag him into the depths of his mind. He told his torturer that he_hadn't _killed his Master, that he didnt mean to, that she gave him no choice—none seemed to satisfy the woman, if she were even truly listening. More likely, it was just another way to toy with him.

Another short interlude passed, again with no sleep. He thought of it as 'day three,' though he had no true idea of how long he had been in that room. The woman entered for the third time, and for the third time injected him with a drug that made any attempts at mental resistance completely futile. This time he simply lay on the rack, placidly awaiting the mental anguish he knew was coming. She played the familiar sequence of events, taking him to the very brink of despair before once again bringing him back to the reality. He did not make a noise. He simply stared up blankly at the lights on the ceiling, tears running down his cheeks.

"Why did you kill her?" she asked him.

He lay silently for a moment before slowly rocking his head from side to side. "I don't know," he murmured. Her fingertips went back to his head, stopping just short of his temples when he spoke again. "I'd take it back if I could. I'd do anything—" he choked out. "Anything to see her again."

The woman circled around to his front, then crouched down and undid the straps at his feet, before rising and doing the same to his hands. She stepped back and he fell to the floor on hands and knees, nearly collapsing onto his face from sheer drugged exhaustion. Wrenching his head up, he saw the masked face staring down at him.

"You made a big mistake," he snarled. He staggered to his feet and lunged towards her. As his hands wrapped around her neck and he slammed her into the door behind her, the mask fell from her face and clattered to the floor. His mouth dropped open and he froze in shock, staring at the red, tentacled face of his former Master.

"How—" Hands still wrapped around her neck, he loosened his grip and moved them up her face, feeling her warm flesh. "Is this real?" he gasped.

Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded, pressing his hands to her cheeks. Tears began to stream forth from his own eyes as he fell to his knees and pressed his face to Vathamma's bosom.

"I'm sorry!" he choked out. "I'm so, so sorry."

She dug her hands into his hair and held him close, running her fingers up and down his head. "Sshh..." she soothed him. "I forgive you."

* * *

Bright light filtered in through the curtains beside Torin, illuminating the bedroom he was slowly awakening to. The light disappeared, and the room grew dark—only to brighten again as a cruiser passed by outside, its headlights shining through the window. He rolled his head around to get his bearings, reminding himself that he was on Dromund Kaas, a planet wreathed in eternal darkness—there would be no sun to gently awaken him.

His surroundings were not what he expected to see. The bed was spacious, easily large enough for two people. The window to his left was unbarred, and past the foot of the bed was a doorway that led to another room with couches and a table. This wasn't the Intelligence Ministry, or a prison cell. It looked like a... home. Footsteps came from the room ahead of him, and Vathamma appeared in the doorway.

"You're awake," she said—as if it had been a long time coming. He sat up in bed, vision swimming and head throbbing as Vathamma circled around to his side and knelt beside him. "How do you feel?"

Torin stared at her, uncertain of whether this was some drug-induced extended hallucination. "How are you here?" He raised his hand towards her face, and she took it in hers.

"Oh, you couldn't kill me so easily." She said it with a smile, but her hand squeezed his tightly—he was glad it wasn't his right one. As the rest of his senses returned, he became aware of something on his neck. Reaching up with his free hand, he felt a metal circlet wrapped around the back—a shock collar, like the one she had made him wear on Balmorra. "Just a precaution," she said, her smile turning to a grim, tight-lipped frown. "You betrayed my trust. It will take time to rebuild that."

He put his right hand on her cheek, as if touching her more would do away with the sense of disbelief washing over him. "I watched you die a thousand deaths—and grieved every one of them."

She sighed. "That was as painful for me as it was for you... but it was necessary."

He swallowed. "Why did you bring me back?"

"Why did I—" She squeezed both of his hands, painfully constricting the right. "You were abducted! Imprisoned! Would you not do the same for me?"

Her grip loosened, and he searched his fevered mind for a response. "Yes," he finally managed to sputter out.

She set his hands down on the bed and rose to her feet. "Of course you would. Now, I must go to work—we will talk more later." As she turned to leave the room, Torin jerked up in the bed. "Wait, what about Nomi?"

Vathamma stopped and turned to him with a broad smile. "She'll be here shortly. You can talk all you want with her."

Before she could continue leaving, he tapped at his collar. "And what about this?"

She held her arms out, gesturing at the adjoining rooms. "You can go anywhere in the penthouse," she said. "Just don't try to leave the apartment."

"What happens if I leave?" he called after her, but the Sith was already out of the room. He heard the _ding _of an arriving elevator, and the whoosh of automated doors sliding closed. With that, he was alone. Torin slid out of bed in his underwear and wobbled to a wall closet, opening it and coming face to face with a dozen sets of the dark gray tunics he'd been fitted for back on Balmorra. He grabbed an outfit and got dressed, then moved into the common area to get a sense of his surroundings. A living room and kitchen sat at the center of the home, with a hallway leading to an elevator and two others leading to opposing bedrooms—one his, one presumably belonging to Vathamma.

The penthouse lift chime sounded, and footsteps followed—not Vathamma's. He popped his the collar of his jacket up to hide the shock device wrapped around his neck—the humiliating mark of a slave. Rushing into the common room, he saw Nomi walking towards him through the entry hall. She wore the dark uniform of an Imperial ensign, and walked with a confident stride that made Torin himself falter. Clutched in her hands was a datapad pressed tightly to her stomach.

"Nomi," he muttered, his lips turning up into a smile as he rushed towards her. He grasped her shoulders and tried to kiss her, but she angled her face away from his defiantly. With a dejected frown he hugged her tightly, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "It's good to see you," he said. "Really, really, good..."

After a few moments she pushed away from him and looked him in the eyes. "I am glad to see you are alive—I mean that."

He looked at her uneasily—there seemed to be a 'but' coming. She waited silently, fingering the datapad in her hands.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands down. "I almost got you killed. I didnt know what else to—"

She tossed her head and clicked her teeth, her tendrils shaking against her chest. "I am not mad at you for that."

He stared at her in confusion, and she tapped a button on her tablet before handing it to him. Displayed on the screen was a video. It showed him, half-nude, grinding his hips between the legs of a very uncomfortable-looking redheaded woman. Below the video was a message included with the file:

_'Your boyfriend was a good lay!'_

Torin's mouth fell open. "I—I thought you were dead!" he stammered, then looked up to see Nomi walking back towards the open elevator. "She told me you were dead!"

The Togruta did not stop, and Torin grabbed her forcefully by the arm. "Will you listen to me for one second!" he shouted at her. She stared back at him, fear flashing across her face before her expression deepened into renewed anger. She yanked her arm free and stormed into the elevator, Torin still giving desperate chase.

"Wait!" he yelled, forcing himself in between the closing doors. As soon as his head passed the threshold, his shock collar activated, sending him to the floor of the lift where he twitched and shook.

"You had better get out before the doors close," Nomi said calmly. Focusing past the pain that lanced through him like a million hot knives, he turned himself around on the floor and crawled back into the apartment. As his head moved out of the elevator the shocks ceased, and he scrambled furiously to safety before rolling onto his back and panting for air while the elevator doors closed and Nomi left for the building lobby.

Staggering back to his feet with muttered curses and furious slaps of his aching right hand to his thigh, he stomped back over to the datapad he had dropped and picked it up to look at the paused video.

He would kill that Mandalorian, he thought to himself. He'd detonated a grenade in her face once—why not again?

The tablet screen went blank, and he pulled away from it in surprise as new imagery appeared. A green light ran over either side of the pad, passing under his thumbs like a fingerprint scanner. A message appeared on the formerly blank screen.

_Torin. Again we are split apart._

His breath caught in his throat, and he nervously glanced around the room as if to confirm he was still alone. He sat down on a sofa in the living room, then continued reading.

_But this is not like before, and we will not be apart for long._

_Fate has put you exactly where you need to be; at the fulcrum of history._

_I have contacts on Dromund Kaas. That is how I found your trail originally._

_It is also how I know your former Sith Master is now the head of Imperial Intelligence._

_There is a data device in their possession; the Black Codex._

_It is not a bomb, or a weapon, but it is no less powerful._

_I need you to retrieve it._

_You will know when the time is right._

He sat back and exhaled, having forgotten to breathe as he read the mind-boggling message. His fingers squeezed the datapad—suddenly he did not feel so alone.

_I know you can do this._

_Once you have the Codex, meet me at these coordinates:_

He memorized the hyperspace coordinates, mumbling them to himself over and over until they were etched in his memory.

_When you have finished this message, it will self-destruct._

As his eyes scanned the last line, green lights flashed on either end of the pad next to his fingers. Inhaling sharply, he shot to his feet and tossed the computer clear across the room. It clattered to the floor and he ran behind the sofa, crouching down until he heard a _'beep' _come from the datapad. Standing up, he slowly approached the tablet and picked it up to see that the message was simply deleted, and the tablet restored to normal functionality.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully—though not by choice. The television was equipped with a passcode he couldn't break, the datapad Nomi had left behind was encrypted to Imperial Intelligence standards, and even the books lining the apartment's shelves were written in languages he couldn't understand. No matter how much the prospect of meeting with Vathamma again terrified him, it was almost a relief when she arrived home late that evening. He longed for _any _contact, no matter who with.

"How did Nomi take your homecoming?" Vathamma said, walking in from the entry hallway. She wore a dark purple robe speckled with gold, with more gold wrapped around her tendrils and plastered to her face—she seemed to wear more each time he saw her.

Torin rose from the couch, stifling a dejected laugh before glancing away. "Not so well."

"Oh?" She walked towards him and inserted herself into his line of sight. "Why is that?"

He looked away again and fiddled with his collar. "It's personal."

She frowned and raised a hand to his head. "Are you going to tell me, or do I need to see for myself?"

He backed away from her. "Alright, just... don't do that." Vathamma waited expectantly. "When I was on Maliss' ship, she and I... I don't know what came over me. She told me Nomi was dead, and I believed her."

Vathamma's expression became sunken. "I see." She reached up and unsnapped his shock collar, then removed it. He rubbed his sensitive neck while he looked at her in confusion. "I died, and you found someone else to call 'Master.' Nomi died, and you found another woman to share your bed with." She stared down at the collar and rubbed it thoughtfully. "It was a mistake to bring you home."

She turned away from him, and he reached out, stopping just short of touching her. "I _wanted _to see you again. I told you that!"

"Then why do you act as if I'm holding you prisoner?" He wracked his mind for an answer, and she started to walk away. "I won't keep you here any longer."

It felt as if she were throwing him out rather than letting him go. His heart sunk and he feared he might suffocate under the weight of her words—it was as if she were dying all over again. Rushing forward, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed his eyes shut. "I love you," he said. "I don't know if it's too late to say it, but I'm saying it now. Even when we fought, I loved you."

Rain began to pelt the windows running along the outer wall of the apartment, and thunder cracked the sky, briefly illuminating the room with a flash of light. Vathamma's hands slid atop his on her stomach, and she cocked her head backwards.

"When I was in your mind, curiosity got the better of me and I looked through the memories we shared together." His legs grew weak at the mention of those three days, a nightmare he wanted to put behind the both of them. "I saw the night we shared together after Quesh." Her fingers stroked his, then stopped. "You have no idea how much it pains me to know that what was a source of joy for me... was the cause of such anguish for you."

Torin pressed his chin into the nape of her neck, his lips nearly brushing her earlobe. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was confused—I'm not anymore. I love you."

Her hands squeezed his, and she angled her head back until their lips nearly touched. "Show me."

He lifted his chin from her neck pulled the outer part of her robe over her shoulders; she hung her arms backwards, allowing it to fall to the floor. Underneath it she wore a thin dress that left her upper back bare, exposing the ridged red flesh running up her spine. Torin knelt down and kissed upwards, feeling her rough skin on his lips as she shivered in his hands. He pulled back and stripped off his own coat and undershirt, then tossed them to the floor before returning his hands to Vathamma's dress straps and gently sliding them downwards. As soon as she was free of the clinging gown she grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom, falling onto bed as she motioned for him to follow.

She propped her head up a pillow and he clambered atop her, arms propped up on either side of her head. He lifted his right hand and ran it across her cheek, stopping to touch two fingers to her open lips. Vathamma reached up and took his hand in hers, flipping it over to examine his scarred palm. "Promise me you won't make me do something like this again." He planted a kiss on her lips, then pressed his forehead to hers.

"I promise," he whispered.

What followed was not like what he had known with Ziare. It was not peaceful, nor comforting—it was passionate, and it was violent. Vathamma's fingers ran over his back as he moved, and as the two of them grew louder and faster her fingernails dug into his flesh, drawing blood as they raked across him. He couldn't feel pain—only wetness forming on his shoulder blades—and the blur of sensations drove him to dizzying heights of pleasure that had his muscles seizing and vision turning white.

Torin collapsed on top of Vathamma, whispering rambling declarations of love and lust in between kisses planted along her neck and cheek. She tilted her face back towards the headboard, panting from sheer exhaustion. He moved as if to roll off of her, but she tightened her legs around him, then slapped his bleeding back. He winced and yanked his chest up, reaching a hand around to judge the damage.

"Don't move." She slid out from under him, then went to the bathroom before returning with a small towel. A hand pressed him flat to the bed and a knee slid over his back as Vathamma straddled him.

"That was rough," he said.

"I'm still quite angry." The damp towel dabbed at the scratches, rough fabric scraping at open wounds. "When I saw your memories of you... _healing _without me, I was furious. I wanted nothing more than to cut you open on that interrogation table, so that you could feel a fraction of my pain." Her fingernails ran down his back, raking at his fresh wounds. "Then, I realized that I had already left you with enough scars." She stopped moving and held her palms flat to his back. "How would you feel if I slept with another man?"

"Awful. Furious." He was reluctant to give a woman as manipulative as her any ammunition she could use, but her question might as well have been rhetorical. She already knew how he felt about her.

"Would you ever forgive me?"

He remained silent, feeling her weight on his back. "I don't know—but that would be it for... this."

"I came close to killing you several times. I maimed you..." she ran a hand over the scar on his back. "I had you brought here against your will, and kept you in a tiny room for days."

"That's... different."

"Yes, yes!" She leaned over and pressed her breasts to his back. "It is, because I did those things for your own good. My... _temper _may get the better of me now and then, but it's simply evidence of how much I care for you."

"I understand."

Vathamma sat upright again, and her hands left his back. "No, you don't." He angled his head back to look at her. "Three days I spent with you, righting your memory. I could endure any pain if I knew it came from your passion, but that—" she swallowed and stared down at him with sad eyes. "Watching as your love for that woman grew—that was true torture."

He spun around underneath her and put his hands on her thighs. "I love _you," _he said firmly. "I'll say it a thousand times."

She frowned and slid off of him onto the floor. "Words, words, words. Is that all you have?" As she moved towards the doorway, Torin shot up from the bed and wrapped his hand around her wrist.

"What?" she said, turning to face him. "More anguished declarations?"

He gripped her harder and pulled her close, then backed her into the bedroom wall. "You're not leaving," he said, grabbing her other wrist and pinning both hands to the wall. "Not until you know that I love you."

"Be careful, Apprentice." Her naked chest rose and fell rapidly, and the corners of her mouth twitched up into split-second smiles. "Overstep your bounds, and I will make you regret it."

"You saw my memories—I'm stronger than I used to be. I don't think you'd win." His lips pressed to hers and his tongue dove inside her mouth. She squirmed and grunted as he kissed her, until finally he pulled back, leaving them both panting.

"This is your last chance." Her hands tightened to fists, and her expression grew stern. "I am _ordering _you to release me."

His grip loosened at her words, but only for a moment—then hardened again, as he spun about and tossed her face-first onto the bed. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back towards him until her legss hung off the edge, then leaned over her, pinning the Sith to the bed as his hands once again sought out hers and intertwined their fingers. She buried her face in the covers, not saying a word as Torin pressed his chest to her back. Nor did _he _need words—he was done with those.

* * *

Two red-faced Togruta sat across from each other in a busy cantina, each with identical ivory markings around their eyes, and white-and-blue horns that were indistinguishable even to members of their own species. The only difference between them was that one wore an Imperial uniform, while the other was dressed in the simple pants and shirt of a housekeeper. The former was also far, far, drunker than the latter.

"Everyone says he is dead—everyone!" Nomi slammed down her drinking glass and wobbled from side to side. "For months I wait, and then I found out he cheats on me?" She leaned towards her sister and slapped her own chest. "Me! I could have any of these men!" She swept a hand across the rest of the cantina outside their table's alcove, gesturing at the night-time partiers who had filtered into the establishment over the course of the evening. With servants, soldiers, and dockworkers, it was far from where Kaas city's finest did their socializing—but that did not make the crowd any less lively.

"You are right, sister. Your beauty is unquestionable," said her twin.

Nomi swiveled in her chair towards the crowds, then looked back at Jula. "Maybe that is the problem—maybe he only has eyes for old women and scarred mercenaries who look like men with breasts."

Jula wrinkled her lips and leaned back in her seat. "It may be as you say."

Nomi scanned the other cantina patrons. "To hell with him. I am a free woman, no?"

"Sister, you are very drunk—" Jula tried to reach out to grab her sister by the arm, but Nomi was already up and walking towards a group of men around the table.

She grabbed one by the arm and spun him around, then pressed her chest to his. "Let us go to your place," she shouted over the music.

The man looked at her in surprise, then to his friends, then grinned and let himself be lead towards the cantina exit. As Nomi pushed through the crowds with her revenge-lay in tow, she spotted someone seated at a wrap-around bar jutting out of the wall. A woman in a brown jacket with a red ponytail and scarred head, nearly falling off of her barstool while she played grabass with a young socialite in a black dress next to her. The girl giggled and slapped Maliss' hand away, blushing before moving closer.

Nomi's expression turned to that of drunken rage. She let go of the man's wrist and marched towards Maliss, picking up a bottle of liquor from a table as she shoved her way through the crowds. Holding it by the neck, she smashed it across the back of Maliss' head, sending her forehead smack into the bar counter. Nomi grabbed her by the jacket collar and dragged her to the ground, pummeling the mercenary's face with flailing fists. All around them a crowd had gathered, and Jula rushed towards her sister before sliding to a stop.

"Why did you do it?" Nomi shouted, smacking the Mandalorian in her bruised cheeks. Maliss made little attempt to fight back, only moving her hands in front of her face to stop the frantic assault.

"Don't know what you're—" Maliss started, interrupted by a fist slipping through her defenses and breaking her nose with a sharp _crack _that had everyone in the crowd wincing in reflexive pain. "It was his Master's idea," she wheezed through broken cartilage. "The drugs, the video—all of it."

Nomi grabbed her collar and shook her head against the ground, then raised her fist high before letting it fall. She pushed off of the beaten woman and stood up. "He thought you were his friend."

Maliss rolled onto her stomach as Nomi stormed out of the Cantina. "I'm sorry, alright?" she shouted, blood streaming from her nostrils and staining her shirt. The two Togruta left the cantina, and Maliss crawled up onto her barstool and tapped her empty glass on the counter while her eyes met with the bartender's.

"Another."


	9. Two Masters

Torin awoke to the feeling of cool sheets and the sight of a gray ceiling illuminated by what little light shone in through the bedroom window. The lack of any real sunlight on Dromund Kaas proved somewhat disorienting, but the nightstand clock told him it was early morning. He moved his hand up and down the bed, feeling for Vathamma. Sitting up, he saw her perched on the edge of her side of the bed, her back turned to him and head cradled in her hands.

"Morning." He crawled over and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at his touch, and her head snapped back to look at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and hair a mess, her eyebrows and lips drawn down into a furious scowl.

His jaw dropped open and he stared at her silently, hand hovering just over her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he finally managed to gasp out.

"What do you _think?" _she spat back at him, her words full of venom. He searched her eyes for any clue as to what she meant, his mouth opening and closing in silent confusion. "I _begged _you to stop."

He went to touch her before withdrawing his hand. "I was trying to show you I loved you," he said quietly.

Her scowl deepened and she looked at him with eyes ablaze. "Trying to show me you _loved _me?" By forcing yourself on me?"

"I didnt mean to... I thought you wanted me to—"

"You thought I _wanted _that?" Her scowl turned into an expression of horrified anguish, and she stared up at the ceiling and shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes. "Leave. At least let me dress."

He rose from the bed and walked out of the room, stumbling towards his own bedroom in a daze. With every step his body grew weaker, and he just barely managed to reach his bed before sitting himself down with shaky arms. He hung his head in his hands and stared blankly at the wood floor, mind a blur even as his body remained perfectly still. All he could see was his Master's tear-stained face; all he could hear were her words laden with hurt and betrayal.

Footsteps sounded in front of him, and he looked up to see Vathamma standing in the entryway to his room. She wore the black and purple robe he had seen her in the previous days, with two red-trimmed epaulets on either shoulder.

"I have a very important meeting at the Ministry of Intelligence in one hour. You will be there." Her eyes refused to meet his, and he simply nodded in response. "We will talk about... _this, _later."

He swallowed and found that his mouth had gone dry. "Ok," he said softly.

She left the apartment, and he went to the bedroom closet to retrieve an outfit. No sooner had he opened the sliding doors that than he felt a wave of nausea rising in his stomach. He rushed over to the bathroom and tossed up the toilet seat, then retched into the bowl until his heaves turned dry. Wobbling to his feet, he leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror—he hardly recognized the man staring back at him. Heavy bags hung under tired eyes, and his lips were flattened into an expression too featureless to be called melancholy.

He looked down at his right hand, then clenched it into a fist and banged it against the counter. Pain radiated outward in waves, and small sparks shot from his hand as he raised it in front of him. The current flowing through his scarred tissue created more pain—pain he directed back at its source, in a continuous cycle that grew and grew until blue current arced off of his hand in streaks that singed the air and cast the room in an eerie blue light while he shuddered in agony. The pain in his mind was gone, supplanted by a simpler one that anchored him firmly back to the cold ground of reality.

This, he could handle.

Once dressed he left the apartment, taking the elevator down to a lobby and out onto a street he had not yet had the chance to see. Dromund Kaas was a planet wreathed in perpetual shadow, but in the early hours of the morning it lacked even the weak purple light that managed to pierce its cloud cover. Black spires sprung up from the city in every direction, darkening further the higher they rose.

With no holographic billboards or floating advertisements, only the streetlights and windows remained to illuminate them. The total ban on commercial advertising would have been commendable, were the capital of the Sith Empire a more inviting place. As it were, Torin would have appreciated some gaudy neon signage to remind him that he still lived among humans, especially given how much of a weightless spirit he felt like that particular morning.

He came to the ministry, a dark, multi-spired cathedral of a building that dwarfed even the skyscrapers surrounding it. Passing checkpoint after checkpoint, he eventually reached one inside the building where his dress and look were not enough to gain him entrance. A young military functionary greeted him and gave him an ID badge to clip to his chest, then ushered him through a grand hall and veering off into a smaller side corridor, before finally stopping in front of a set of doors.

"Good luck, my Lord." The man departed, his words leaving Torin with no small amount of unease. He opened the doors and stepped into a conference room, at the center of which sat a long, elegant table.

Only four people sat around the table, leaving many chairs empty. At the head of the table sat a masked man he recognized as Darth Marr. Once a warrior who cut his teeth in battle in the first war with the Republic, he had long since hung up that cape for the politician's cloak. Unlike Lord Andar, he had the martial background to back up the power base he had amassed; and unlike Darth Malgus, he managed to successfully navigate the treacherous path from soldier to politician. Even so, he still wore the plated armor of a Sith Warrior. Whether that was to make a statement or simply because it was what he was accustomed to, Torin could only guess.

Torin took a seat on a bench lining the wall, and scanned the other occupants at the table. His own Master sat to Marr's right, across from a red-skinned Sith man and a blonde Human woman, neither of whom Torin recognized. Based on their dress he determined the man to be the ranking superior of the woman, though he had no idea what positions they held.

"This is your meeting, Darth Crucia." Marr said to Torin's Master. "I expect you to begin by telling us why you insisted it be held _here _instead of its original location." He gestured to the two figures at his right hand side. Neither looked happy about being summoned away from their own ministry.

Vathamma looked to Marr. "I was appointed Director of Intelligence because I was one of the few to foresee Malgus' betrayal." Not quite accurate, but Torin certainly wasn't going to correct her. "But Malgus' traitors weren't the only rot to infect the Empire's institutions."

"Is that so?" Marr said.

"The thwarted assault on Korriban coincided perfectly with our own attack on Tython. Would Darth Arkous or Advisor Beniko like to claim that to be mere coincidence?"

Silence.

"It is clear to me that someone is feeding information to the Republic military," she continued.

Arkous pushed back in his seat, clearly none too pleased with the implication, but his human advisor spoke before he could. "Perhaps you should look to your own house?" Beniko said, and glanced at Torin. "Or your Apprentice, whom we are supposed to take at your word holds firm allegiance to the Empire."

Vathamma smirked. "Your department informed me of the assault _twenty-four _hours before it was launched. Are you seriously suggesting that within that time, I leaked the information to the Republic, and they planned a retaliatory strike on one of the most secure planets in Imperial space?"

More silence.

"My Apprentice was not _kidnapped _by Jedi—he was placed on Tython intentionally." All eyes turned to Torin for a brief moment, freezing him in place before the room's attention returned to his Master. "While he was there, he witnessed something your strike team missed." Eyebrows raised, and Marr seemed to be hanging on her every word. "In the midst of the assault, the Jedi snuck the Mass Shadow Generator off-planet."

Arkous scoffed and flung a hand at Torin. "We're supposed to take this boy's word for it?"

"I wouldn't expect you to." She held up her hands. "I delved into his memories and saw for myself. Unless you are suggesting that _I _am lying, I would hope we can treat this as actionable intelligence."

A grumble sounded beneath Marr's mask. "Then the Jedi have the weapon. That is worrying."

Vathamma quickly turned to him, eager to press her advantage. "Recovered from the wreckage of Andar's ship, no doubt. Our _own _search had to be stopped when the teams running it were requisitioned for the assault on Tython." Arkous and Beniko fumed, neither able to muster a convincing retort. "Were I given more than twenty-four hours notice of the assault, I could have made contact with my Apprentice and we could have stopped a _superweapon _from remaining in the hands of our enemies."

Marr leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, the gears in his mind churning under his steel mask until he looked to Vathamma. "Darth Crucia, you will lead the search for the Mass Shadow Generator. With any luck, their hasty evacuation will have left a trail." She steepled her fingers and nodded along eagerly until Marr turned to the other two Sith. "The sphere of Military Offense will stand ready to lend its support should force be needed."

Arkous frowned, but bowed his head. "Of course, my Lord." A smug grin spread across Vathamma's face, one which she directed at a displeased-looking Beniko. In one fell swoop Vathamma had lost her chief patron, but gained another, far more influential one.

The Military director and his adviser were the first to leave. Darth Marr stayed behind well after the others had left, discussing dry matters of resources and personnel that would be made available to Intelligence. Finally he left as well, and Torin stood up to leave. Vathamma grabbed him before he could.

"What's gotten into you?"

He glared at her. "That should be obvious."

Vathamma closed the door, sealing the two of them in the conference room. "I couldn't control what you showed me when I looked into your mind." She drew closer to him, then pointed a finger at her chest. "I am the _Director of Imperial Intelligence. _Was I supposed to ignore the errant super-weapon you saw?"

"You were _supposed _to—" He grabbed her hand, and she pulled it back with a startled look on her face. His expression grew horrified, and he hovered his hands over her shoulders, as if afraid to touch her. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"It's alright." She took a step towards him, her chest pressing into his as she looked up at him. "I gave last night some thought, and I feel I am partially to blame." He swallowed, resisting the urge to take a step back. Shame washed over him—as if _he _had any right to feel intimidated. "I pushed you too hard after your ordeal—of course you would lash out."

"No," he muttered, his voice a trembling whisper and his eyes locked onto hers. "It's my fault."

She reached up and pressed his hands onto her shoulders. "We've conquered bigger obstacles than this, haven't we?" Her hands left his and wrapped around his waist. "Tonight, you will treat me gently—as atonement."

His heart leapt in his chest, and his body shook with relief. "Yes, anything you want!"

"Good." She slid away from him and opened the door she had sealed a few moments ago. "But before that, we have drier matters to attend to."

They left the meeting room, walking through corridors until they reached an especially drab-looking section of the complex. Gone were the decorative plants and red trim, leaving only gray floors and grayer walls. Torin followed Vathamma into a small room, closing the door behind them. Furnished with only a few chairs and a table, it had a one-way viewing window into an adjoining room that looked just like the one she had kept him in days ago—it might have been the same room, for all he knew. Someone was strapped to the rack inside—a middle-aged man in an officer's uniform, though he had been stripped of his jacket and cap. An array of torture instruments were laid out on a table beside him, and he glanced between them and the door every few moments, breathing hard with an anxiety borne of fevered anticipation of what was to come.

"This man was caught leaking information," said Vathamma.

Torin watched through the window as his eyes seemed to momentarily connect with those of the other man. "To the Republic?"

"That is what I would like to know." She hung her shoulders. "I have more enemies on Dromund Kaas than I do within the entirety of Republic space. There is no one I can truly trust."

He glanced at her, biting his tongue as she looked up at him and put her hand on his back. "Except for you, of course."

"Of course," he replied quickly.

The door they had come through a few moments ago opened, and a blue-skinned Chiss passed through into the interrogation room, making his way to the restrained prisoner. Torin could feel the man's fear grow, pulsing outwards in waves with each shallow breath.

"Our techniques are effective, but... blunt." She pressed an intercom button on the wall. "Go ahead, Cipher Nine."

The agent lifted a pair of pliers from the table and leaned over the prisoner, holding his index finger still with one hand while the other slid the metal jaws of the pliers over his fingernail.

"Wait!" The man shouted, shaking the table furiously. "I'm not a traitor, I don't know what you want from me!"

Cipher Nine clamped down on the nail and ripped it out, drawing an anguished scream from the prisoner. Torin's jaw dropped open as he stared in shock at the man sobbing on the rack while his torturer dropped the bloody nail into a small dish on the table.

"We've already injected him with as much truth serum as his adrenal system can handle, to little result—he's too well trained." She sighed. "I fear we may have to take an eye or two before he breaks."

The interrogator tore another fingernail off, drawing renewed screams from the prisoner and rattles from the rack beneath him.

"I'll do it!" Torin turned to Vathamma and held a hand to his chest. "I'll pull the secrets out of his mind."

His Master folded her arms and hummed thoughtfully while Cipher Nine yanked a third fingernail free. At last she let her arms drop and pressed the intercom button. "That will be all for now."

The Chiss cleaned his tool and placed it back exactly where he had found it, then left the room, giving a short bow to Vathamma before leaving them alone.

"No need to be gentle, like I was with you." She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to look at her. "We need to know what this traitor knows."

He nodded and slipped into the room, drawing a confused stare from the teary-eyed man strapped to the rack. Torin did not look the part of a seasoned torturer, and was sure his weary expression betrayed his utter lack of enthusiasm for what he was about to do. He walked to the tray of tools and picked up a scalpel, eyeing the mean-looking instrument sadly as he turned it about in his hand.

"I really don't want to do this," he said to the prisoner, looking towards him from the corner of his eye. "But I'm not leaving until you tell me who you're working for." Torin circled around behind the man and pressed his fingers to his temples. "How much pain you endure before that happens... well, that's up to you."

With that he closed his eyes and burrowed into the man's mind, beating down mental barriers and tearing through the flotsam of useless memories in an effort to find his most guarded secrets. Locating them was the hard part—taking them was easier. Taking them from a mind that fought you every step of the way? _That _was harder—but far from impossible, if you cared little about what happened to the mind you were tearing apart.

His words to the man had been crafted to make the initial task easier. Torin was no trained interrogator, but he knew enough to know that one should come at their goal from an angle, never straight-on. That principle held true when your only tools were words and scalpels, but _his _medium was memory. Tell a man to try not to think of a pink bantha, and his mind will end up full of them. Tell him you want to know his deepest secret, and his attempts to push that thought down will be like trying to smooth an ocean out with a rolling pin.

While his arms quaked and sweat dripped from his brow onto the thrashing man below him, Vathamma watched with intense interest, stroking her tentacles with two fingers as she waited.

Torin delved deeper into the man's mind, the resistance growing greater as he dived down into the murky depths. Despite how far he had searched, he had found nothing indicating the man to be a traitor—everything he saw was that of an Imperial loyalist. Still, he kept searching. If he did not, the Chiss would be back—and he would not stop, either. The further Torin traveled inward, the less he could see, and the greater a presence he felt in the man's mind—like someone else were there with them.

He passed through a space that was bereft of cognition, and everything grew silent—then came back as a roar of thought and memory as he moved deeper still. There was another area within this mind, separated from the rest—as if sequestered deliberately. Within _that _he found what he was looking for. Plans, ideas, and goals—and what the Officer had planned to steal from Imperial Intelligence.

_Torin._

The voice came from all around him—he nearly broke the connection, not realizing that it came from within the man's mind.

_Ziare? How can I hear you?_

_Do you think I would let something as empty as space separate us again?_

_But __**how**__are you here? How are we talking?_

_This man is a follower of mine _—_he was to be your contact within Imperial Intelligence._

_They were torturing him. This was all I could think to do._

_I do not worry for him _. _He has embraced his sacrifice. I worry for your soul. Look at what you are doing._

_You didnt see what they were doing to him! If I hadn't stepped in_—

_Then that Sith woman would not have had an opportunity to introduce you to torture. There is no limit to how far you will fall if you stay with her any longer._

Realization washed over him as he considered where he was, what he was doing, and who he was becoming.

_Find the codex, and leave. Come home._

_I don't know how. Its locked away, somewhere secret._

_The Sith will give you access, after you tell her what this man knows._

_You want me to tell her what I found?_

_Everything but our conversation._

In the midst of the telepathic discussion, a faint voice came from back in the real world, muffled as if traveling through water. "What are you doing to him?" Vathamma said through the intercom. "His vitals—"

_Now go._

An immense force pushed on Torin, sending him hurtling out of the depths of the prisoner's mind. His hands yanked away from the man's head, and he was back in the interrogation room. The imprisoned officer thrashed violently on the table, threatening to yank it free of its moorings.

"What the hell did you do to him?" said Vathamma, rushing into the room. Torin circled around to see that the man's eyes had rolled back into his head, and foam was dripping from the corners of his mouth. Vathamma fumbled for a syringe and vial on the table, drawing a measured dose of the substance.

The heartbeat monitor in the other room flatlined, its single, continuous tone letting them know what they could already tell by the motionless body before them—he was dead.

Vathamma sighed and dropped the syringe to the table. "I didn't say to _kill _him."

"I didnt!" Torin glanced back at the man's pale face, his jaw stretched open in a silent scream. "All I did was look."

"Then he was better prepared than I realized. Someone—a Force user—implanted him with psychic failsafes." She put her hands on her hips and looked up at her Apprentice. "Tell me you at least gleaned _something _from him."

"He communicated with his contact through a backup interface on his work tablet."

"Useless. Our agents likely already discovered that."

"And a codename—'The Pilgrim'. Whoever they are, they wanted him to steal something called the Black Codex."

Her eyes went wide and she stroked her tentacles furiously. "Do you know what they desired it for?"

"Something in it identifies The Pilgrim."

She turned around and started walking out of the room. "Ha... ha!" Hand held high, she moved her fingers excitedly beside her head as they walked back through the Ministry corridors.

"Meet Cipher Nine at the vault—use whatever else you found in that man's head to identify this 'Pilgrim'. I want a_real _name."

"I'd like to take a look at his workspace first."

"Why? Our agents have already cleared it."

He backed down the hallway, edging away from her. "Just to see if they missed anything!"

Vathamma rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "Do _not _keep Cipher Nine waiting."

Torin was already walking away from her, picking up speed until he was nearly jogging through the ministry's halls. He reached his destination, a large room of cubicles that housed the agency's analysts. The space was the nerve center of Imperial Intelligence, a maze of desks and walls amidst which its occupants coordinated the most sophisticated Intelligence apparatus the galaxy had ever seen. Torin stalked through between cubicles, scrutinizing nameplates until he spotted the one he was looking for.

He waited for an agent to pass him, then ducked into the cubicle. It had been stripped bare, save for a box full of innocuous personal effects left behind by Internal Security. Torin opened the desk drawers one after another, pressing the bottoms until he heard a _click _come from the bottom-most one. A false bottom sprung up, and he dug his fingernails into the edges, then set it down on the desk. The compartment appeared empty—whoever cleared out his desk had probably made the same discovery.

He ran his hand along the bottom of the drawer until his fingers brushed something, and he picked it up. To him—and anyone else who might have been watching—he looked to be holding nothing at all. But he could feel it—crinkled fabric, lined with thin plastic, invisible to the naked eye. Torin ran his hands over the invisible mass until he found a zipper and he pulled, undoing the floppy container. The interior revealed itself as he opened it, like he had torn open a hole in space itself.

The pouch was invisible to the human eye, cameras, x-rays, and blocked any incoming or outgoing transmissions. That much, he had gathered from the mind of the prisoner. Stuffing the pouch into a pocket on his tunic, he left the cubicle farm and walked back to the Ministry's command center. Torin stopped at the entrance to the room and scanned the space for any sight of Cipher Nine. Amidst the passing agents and computer equipment lining the walls, he saw the Chiss, leaned up against a wall near a set of elevator doors.

Torin approached him and the agent stood to attention. "My Lord."

"I understand you're supposed to escort me to the 'vault'."

"That is so, my Lord." The agent turned around and pressed his thumb to a biometric scanner next to the door, calling up a lift which arrived several seconds later. They entered and he repeated the process with a scanner inside, sending them to the only other floor the elevator traveled to. As soon as the doors closed the lift lurched violently, then zoomed downward at a speed that had Torin grabbing for the railings lining the side, lest he smack his head against the ceiling. The agent stood perfectly still, his hands folded in front of him and his blood-red eyes directed forward.

The doors opened, and Torin followed the agent into a blinding-white corridor. The floor they had come to seemed to be rated for medical sterility—not a single decorative item adorned the stark ebony walls that reflected the fluorescent lighting overhead.

"I was told you succeeded where I failed."

Torin did a double-take at the man before realizing what he was referring to. "I guess ripping out fingernails isn't always the best method."

The agent hummed thoughtfully. "I prefer _that _method to putting their mind through a blender."

The pair passed dozens of sealed doors, before stopping at one that looked no different from the others. Cipher Nine again scammed his thumb on a reader beside the door, then held his eyes in front of it as a light passed over them, before finally swiping a keycard he pulled from his breast pocket. The door opened, and they stepped into a bare room no more decorated than the hall they had left. At the center of the space was an outgrowth of floor that curved sharply upward to form a white pedestal capped with a gray metal dome, below which was mounted a computer terminal.

The Chiss went to the terminal and tapped away at the keyboard, and the sides of the dome retracted into the pedestal, revealing a black cube the size of a man's fist. A rigid wire extended from the terminal and plugged into the side of the box, followed by a blur of activity on the computer screen.

"Now," the agent said. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"The identity of a codename—'The Pilgrim'."

"Hmm..." He tapped away, glancing up at the screen every few seconds, then drew his lips down in surprise. "A woman... on Tython."

"Who?" Torin stepped towards the terminal, looking at it with great interest. "Is there a name?"

"Kolovish. The Matriarch of a Twi'lek settlement on the planet."

Torin wrinkled his lips in confusion and stepped back. "I've met the Matriarch... 'Ranna'. And she's hardly any older than me."

The Chiss shrugged. "This information could be outdated. Perhaps Kolovish devoted herself fully to spy mastering once I dismantled the cabal."

"You never went after her?"

"In the heart of Republic space? Remember, we didnt even know where Tython _was _until recently _. _It would have been difficult... and pointless."

"How could it be pointless? She _turned _an Imperial agent."

"Yes, but—" Cipher Nine turned to Torin and thought for a moment. The latter could not help but feel that he was about to be spoken to like a child. "Kolovish was a nobody—her only importance to the cabal was her physical proximity to the Jedi temple. How she managed to come anywhere close to stealing this—" he gestured at the codex. "—I do not know."

"Well, we have a name, and we have a place."

The agent nodded and turned back to the terminal. "I believe that will suffice." The dome begin to close back over the codex, and Torin glanced from it to the agent in a silent panic as Cipher Nine turned away from the pedestal and began walking back towards the door. As soon as the codex—and Torin—were out of his vision, Torin used the Force to yank the codex free of where it was suspended. Torin winced as the codex scraped the edges of the dome, then brought it flying into the pouch he had pulled from his pocket. Still using the Force, he zipped it up, then turned around quickly just in time to see the Chiss glancing back to see what the noise was.

Torin clasped his hands in front of him, using the Force to suspend the now-invisible cube just in front of his chest.

"What?" Torin said.

Cipher Nine glanced from him to the sealed dome, then shook his head. "Nothing."

They took the elevator back up to the command center, and Torin kept the cube hovering in front of him as he navigated to the main hall of the Ministry. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and he exchanged nervous glances with passing agents, but no one stopped him. The container he had wrapped the codex in did its job perfectly, and he passed through checkpoint after checkpoint without a single detector alerting security to what he was smuggling out of their building—though he remained fully prepared to start running if they did.

Before he knew it he was out on the street in front of the ministry, with only loose military checkpoints between him and the starport. No ordinary soldier would dare search him, and leaving Dromund Kaas was as simple as using a few Force-laden words to convince a freighter captain to let him hitch a ride.

He took a single step down the sidewalk, then stopped and looked back at the Ministry looming behind him. His mind filled with images of Vathamma's anguished face, and his heart grew heavy. Could he really betray her again? He told himself it was for a good cause, that Ziare had assured him it would save lives—but that did little to assuage his guilt. Despite everything the Sith had done—and what she would likely do in the future—he didn't want to leave.

He had been separated from her once, and it had taken _months _for them to meet again. Was he going to leave once more, this time by choice? He could give Ziare the codex, then return to Vathamma and throw him at her feet to beg for whatever little mercy she held, but would she take him back? _That _was what worried him. Not that she might cut off a hand, or execute him for treason—but that she might simply turn her back and tell him that he had betrayed her for the last time.

As Torin turned back and forth between the direction of the starport and the Ministry's entrance, his eyes fell on something familiar across the street. Standing at the entrance of an alleyway between two apartment blocks stood a red-skinned Togruta with a fleshy headdress of blue and white, clad in drab, featureless garments.

Torin raised his hand up slowly to wave to her. Her eyes connected with his, and she waved him towards her before darting into the alleyway.

"Wait!" Torin ran into the street, narrowly avoiding being turned into roadkill by a cruiser that blared its horn as it zoomed past. He looked back to the alley and saw Nomi turn a corner, moving out of sight. He followed her in between the two buildings, shoving the codex into his coat pocket while running as fast as he could before sliding to an abrupt stop. Nomi stood a few feet away from him, next to a hand-trolley atop which sat an open, man-sized box.

"Why are you running?" Torin gasped. "You want to talk, right?" She didn't respond, and he walked towards her slowly. "I want to talk, too."

Metal prongs pressed into the back of his neck, and he spasmed violently before falling to the wet concrete, where he came to rest with a few more unceremonious jerks of his limbs. Another Togruta stepped over his unconscious body, this one clad in a dark Imperial uniform. She handed the stun prod to her sister, then knelt down to hook her hands under Torin's armpits.

"Help me lift him," Nomi said.

Jula set the prod down and grabbed his ankles, and both Togruta lifted him off of the ground with strained grunts. One of Torin's legs kicked in Jula's grip, and she dropped him with a shriek, then scrambled for the stunstick and jabbed him in the ankle with it, delivering a few quick shocks to the unconscious man. Nomi dropped him as current shot up her arms, then marched over to her sister and snatched the prod from her.

"Do you want to _kill _him?" she hissed.

Jula rose to her feet. "He moved!"

"Just get him into the box."

They hefted him into the container and sealed the lid, then pushed the trolley out of the alleyway onto the busy streets of Dromund Kaas. The domed starport loomed over the skyline ahead of them, marking their destination.

* * *

For the third time in a week, Torin awoke from an artificial sleep with a pounding head and aching limbs. His first thought was to muse how many more blows to the head he could take before he suffered irreparable brain damage. The second was to wonder just where, exactly, he was. He sat up on the cot he was laid out on, then looked around the cluttered cargo hold around him. Metal crates filled most of it, with only a small space cleared away for his makeshift bed.

To his right was an open doorway leading to the ship's bridge. He slowly rose to his feet and crept towards it, stepping lightly as the distinctive blue-and-white horns of a Togruta loomed above the pilot's chair. He silently circled around, and saw Nomi sitting in the seat. She bolted upright when she heard him approaching, cocking her head back to watch him. Neither said a word, and he pressed against the back of the chair and slid his hands over her chest as he pressed his chin in between her horns.

"I knew you wouldn't give up on me," he said. His hands went lower, moving from side to side across her chest in gentle movements as he sighed into the top of her head. She tilted her face up to look at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

"Please stop," she pleaded—he did not recognize the voice at all.

He pulled away from her, staring dumbly at this woman who looked to be a carbon copy of Nomi.

"I see you've met my sister," came a voice behind him—this one, he recognized. He turned to see Nomi walking in from the cargo hold, dressed in her Imperial uniform. "This is Jula." She gestured at her seated sister.

Torin looked down at the Togruta wiping her eyes. "It's... very nice to meet you." He didn't dare take the nervous woman's hand in greeting.

Nomi waved him towards her, and he followed her into the cargo hold. "What is this?" She reached atop a crate and pulled the codex off of it.

Torin's eyes shot wide open and he snatched the cube from her, turning it around in his hands before glancing back up at her. "It's called the Black Codex. Ziare—the Jedi who taught me on Tython—asked me to steal it for her."

"Why?"

"She said it could save lives... I don't know how, yet."

"Then you must take it to her!"

He shook his head and frowned guiltily. "I don't know if I can—if I should. Vathamma, she—

Nomi slapped him across the face, then stared down at him with a stern expression before delivering another furious slap—then another, and another. Finally, Torin grabbed her wrists, keeping her from striking him again.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" he exclaimed.

"Your beloved Master _paid _the Mandalorian to drug you and send me that disgusting video."

Torin stared at her with mouth agape. "Why would she do that?"

"Because of this! To turn you into her little pet!" Nomi gestured outward, then jabbed a finger at the codex. "You say this can save lives, and here you are wondering if you should return it to the Sith?"

His head swimming, he walked over to a small crate and sat down. "I believe you, ok? I believe you." He swallowed and glanced up at her. "But something else happened... I really hurt her bad. I don't know if I can do this to her, too." Nomi stood in front of him and held her arms outward, waiting for him to come out with it. "She brought me into her home, and..."

"And?" Nomi exclaimed, leaning towards him.

"I forced myself on her," he said softly.

She laughed in disbelief. "How are you so clever, but so stupid?" He looked up at her in shock. "You say you _forced yourself _on a Sith Lord?" He swallowed hard, then nodded. "And she did not throw you out a window? Or boil the blood in your veins?"

Torin cast his eyes downward. "She was scared. You didn't see her."

Nomi grabbed around his mouth with one hand and pointed his face back at her. "You are being manipulated, you idiot!" She shoved him away in frustration, and he hung his head in his hands. Nomi took the codex from him, then held it in front of his face. "You will take this to the Jedi you spoke of."

"Don't you mean 'we'?" He looked up at her.

She looked away and shook her head. "No. Once we reach our destination, you will take this shuttle to meet the Jedi."

"And then we'll meet up later, right?" His voice grew frantic, and he rose to his feet.

She squeezed the cube tightly in her hands, and he felt his muscles weaken with each passing moment of silence.

"No."

"No?" Torin smiled madly in disbelief. "What do you mean 'no'? Are you saying that's it? Goodbye and good luck?"

She nodded.

"After everything we did, after everything we went through—" His voice cracked. "How can you leave me now?"

"You need the Jedi."

He stepped towards her and grabbed her shoulders. "I don't need the _Jedi, _I need _you!"_

"You need the Jedi, because..." She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. "I do not like the man you are becoming."

"I'm the same as I've always been!" His fingertips dug into her shoulders. "Come with me—bring your sister. Ziare can help you two start a life in the Republic."

She pried his hands off of her. "We do not need her help—or yours." The words were stated flatly, without malice—but they cut right through to his core.

"You love me." He grabbed her arm and spun her around. "I know you do."

She stared into his eyes, as if giving his assertion fair thought. "I did."

His lips turned down into a scowl and he pressed her back to the wall. "I could make you love me again." His other hand moved to her temple, and she frowned sadly.

"No, you cannot."

He looked from her eyes to his hand, then slowly withdrew, hanging his head and allowing Nomi to return to the bridge while he took a seat in the cargo bay. Never had he felt so alone, and never had he felt so strongly that 'alone' was exactly what he deserved.


	10. Keep Your Friends Close

Vathamma stalked the corridors of Imperial Intelligence, searching for her apprentice. No one had seen hide nor hair of him since he had left the vault, and hours had passed with no indication of where she had gone. Eventually she came to the central command room, circling about a holographic display while she awaited word from one of her agents. At last the man she had assigned to the task showed his face. A dusky-skinned Zabrak, with hair combed neatly back between the horns dotting his scalp.

"Well?" Vathamma said, turning to him.

The agent swallowed and fingered the datapad in his grip. "We picked up his trail with the building's security footage."

She motioned forward with her fingers until he handed her the datapad, then began scanning through the pieced-together footage. Torin walked out of the vault with Cipher Nine, then immediately left the Ministry with an intensely anxious expression plastered across his face. The footage shifted to the exterior of the building, where he stopped on the streetside for a moment before darting across and nearly being run over by a car. From there, the footage ended.

"He never left the alley he ran into, my Lady—and there are no cameras within view of it."

She frowned and looked up at him. "Did you _search _the alley?"

"Thoroughly, my Lady."

"And did you _find _him?"

"No."

She shoved the datapad into the man's hands. "Then obviously he _did _leave. Run facial recognition on whoever left that alley after he entered."

The agent gathered two other analysts and did so while Vathamma watched. As it turned out, automated recognition was not even necessary.

"Pause, pause!" Vathamma yelled. Frozen on the screen in front of her were two identical Togruta, pushing a man-sized box atop a trolley at breakneck speed. "Where is my assistant now?" she said to the agent.

He moved to another terminal and looked up the access records for Nomi, then slowly turned to Vathamma. "She left the city three hours ago... aboard a shuttle that departed Kaas starport."

Vathamma's eyes bugged out and she stumbled towards a holotable, then leaned on it and drew strained breaths. "Kidnapped," she wheezed. "Not again."

The agent eyed her nervously. "Are you alright, my Lady."

She squeezed the edge of the desk with her fingers and hung her head. "I'm thinking!" she shot back. After a few moments she looked up at him. "Get me Cipher Nine."

The Zabrak swallowed nervously, not looking forward to delivering further bad news to the fuming Sith. "He's on Manaan."

Vathamma shot up from the desk. "Manaan?" she shouted, cowing the agent. She stormed off to her office and slammed the door shut, then sat down at her terminal and placed a video call to Cipher Nine. The agent's holographic visage appeared above her desk a moment later.

"Darth Crucia," he said in greeting.

"Would you care to explain what you're doing on a planet whose neutrality is enforced by treaty?"

"Chasing down leads, my Lady—as is my mandate. I believe I've uncovered—"

"Ah-ah." She waved her hand dismissively. "I don't care. I want you back on Dromund Kaas immediately. My apprentice has been kidnapped, and I need you to pick up the trail."

"That will take time. I am... rather occupied here, for the time being."

She jammed a finger down on her desk. "Am I supposed to make do with these... simpletons they sent me straight from the academy?"

"Perhaps I can be of some use from here." He disappeared from view for a moment, then reappeared with a surprised look on his face. "Hmm. Your Apprentice seems to be headed _here."_

"What?" she exclaimed. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I placed a tracker on him after he stole the Black Codex."

She shot off of her chair before dropping back down, rattling it against the floor. "He _stole _it? And you thought I wouldn't care to know that little tidbit?"

"I assumed you ordered him to do so. He is your Apprentice, after all."

She held her hands to her face and slid them up and down. "Why would I order him to steal something from my own Ministry?"

"It is not my place to second guess Sith Lords, my Lady."

"When he reaches Manaan, observe but do _not _engage. If he tries to leave the planet, stop him."

"Will do, my Lady."

Vathamma ended the call, shaking her head and groaning as she placed another call. It took three tries, but eventually someone picked up—a bedraggled-looking Mandalorian, with bags under her eyes and messy hair.

"What?" the woman said, rubbing a hand across her weary face. She sounded as if she had either just awoken or hadn't slept in days—Vathamma could not tell which.

"Where are you now?" the Sith said.

Maliss pressed her palms to her eyes, massaging out the sleepiness. "I'm... off-planet."

"No, you're not," Vathamma replied hurriedly. "I've been tracking your movements—but it doesn't matter!" She scooted forward in her chair and leaned in towards the hologram. "My Apprentice has been kidnapped—at the order of the Jedi, no doubt. Ready your ship—you'll be joining me in orbit."

"Oh, come on." She sighed and hung her head. "He's not gonna want to see me."

"Of course he would! Why wouldn't he?" Maliss remained silent. "Get your ship in orbit, I'll contact you within the hour with a docking location for my vessel."

Maliss groaned. "Why do you even need me for this?"

Vathamma gestured about her office. "Intelligence has been gutted! All i'm left with is... _mewling babes _who can scarcely hold a blaster. That's why I need _you _there." She leaned forward. "You _will _be there."

Maliss swiped a hand at the hologram on her end. "Fine."

Vathamma ended the call and raced from her office, ordering a subordinate to ready a shuttle for transport to her destroyer in orbit.

* * *

The remainder of Torin's trip with Nomi and Jula passed in awkward silence, though they did exchange a few clipped word as a matter of necessity. The first time the Togruta broke open their ration packs, Nomi handed a plastic container to Torin where he sat in the cargo bay before peeling the lid off her own. She didn't sit down to eat with him, though—she shoveled the fruit and vegetables from hers to his, leaving only the meat.

"You don't like your vegetables?" he said, cocking a smile at her.

Her eyes flickered to his briefly, then she rose and turned back to the bridge. "I cannot eat them."

She sat down in the captain's chair next to her sister, both Togruta digging sharp canines into steaks as tough as the plastic they came in. A realization struck Torin that he didnt actually know much about Nomi, for all that they had been through. Their relationship—whatever it had once been—had been built on adrenaline, danger, and a shared knowledge that death could come for either of them at any moment. Once that was stripped away, there was nothing left.

He could have built something more solid, had Vathamma not ruined any chance of that. Torin shook his head and stuck a fork in his steak, wiggling the plastic prongs until they broke.

No, he thought to himself, he had his share of the blame as well.

After another day of travel they arrived at their destination—Manaan, a planet covered in blue ocean, home to the fish-like Selkath. And most importantly, neutral in the war between Empire and Republic. From there, both he and Nomi could make their way without fear of being harassed by other faction—wherever that way lie. He knew where _he _was headed, but he could not work up the courage to ask Nomi where she intended to go with her sister. Knowing her plans would only serve to make her departure more real. For now, their imminent separation seemed an absurd dream he might awaken from at any moment.

Their shuttle circled the planet until they reached Ahto City—a gleaming white cityscape that rose out of the ocean like a carved pearl, and Manaan's only surface settlement. They set down in the starport at the center of the city and were immediately greeted by a Selkath official who took Nomi's paperwork and led them away from the docking bay. The man—if his deep voice were any indication of his gender—was a bipedal fish. Torin could think of no more succinct way to describe him. With a gilled neck and fleshy head that flopped around awkwardly as he walked in his water-filled breathing suit, he looked ill-suited for the surface world.

The starport seemed empty, though Torin could not say he knew enough about Manaan to gauge what exactly was a slow day. Their guide glanced back at them every few moments, glassy eyes scanning Torin in particular. They reached a security checkpoint deeper in the complex, and their guide stopped before another Selkath seated at a booth.

"Weapons," he said, eyeing Nomi's holstered blaster. She went to remove it, but Torin pressed his hand to hers, stopping her.

He waved a hand in front of their guide's face, staring straight into his eyes. "Are you hiding something from us?" he said.

The Selkath croaked awkwardly, as if trying to hold something back. The guard in the booth shifted in his seat and reached for his belt, but Nomi drew her blaster and pointed it at his bug-eyed head, freezing him in place as he slowly raised his open palms.

"The Jedi waiting for you," the Selkath finally said.

"Where?"

"At the main entrance."

Torin waved a hand in front of him again. "Sith? At the main entrance?" he said in feigned shock. "You'd better tie up your partner so he doesn't get hurt!"

While the brainwashed Selkath wrestled his partner to the ground, Torin grabbed the two Togruta by their wrists and backtracked towards a maintenance hallway he had noted shortly after leaving the docking bay. Wrenching open the locked door with the Force, he ushered the other two into the narrow corridor. They raced through the dim tunnel, until both aliens slid to a stop and Torin nearly barreled into them.

Looking past the two women, he saw a light beating away the shadows—a blue lightsaber, hovering in the darkness and faintly illuminating the ebony face of a bald, white-robed woman. She reached out with her other hand and then pulled back, yanking Jula towards her. The Togruta slid across the floor with a startled scream, sliding off into the darkness behind the Jedi. Torin shoved in front of Nomi to stand between her and the Jedi. As he squeezed past her, he felt more movement—he reached out just in time to grab Nomi by the wrist, bringing her back down to the floor as someone at the other end of the hallway attempted to pull on her as had happened to Jula.

A Twi'lek wielding a blue lightsaber stood near the door they had entered through, and Torin quickly recognized him as the Padawan he had nearly come to blows with in Kalikori village.

"Put your weapons down, Imperials!" shouted the Jedi woman—she must have been the Twi'lek's Master.

Nomi had drawn her blaster, and pointed it at the Twi'lek while Torin stood ready to come to blows with their other opponent. He took one last look at the two lightsabers and his grim-faced companion, then lowered his hands before wrapping one arm around Nomi's neck and twisting the blaster from her grip.

"Let me leave, or I'll break this slave's neck!" he shouted.

The Twi'lek looked past Torin to his Master and nodded. Both Jedi pulled at the same time, yanking Nomi free of Torin's loose grip and sending him sprawling to the floor with a muffled grunt. When he opened his eyes he saw a blue light hovering between them.

"Move, and it will be the last thing you do," the woman said.

He swallowed and remained deathly still while the other Jedi approached him. His arms were pulled together in front of him and bulky cuffs slapped onto them, force dampeners that encased his hands and wrists. A feeling coursed through him, like an electrical current running in reverse, and he could no longer feel the power of the Force at his fingertips.

The two Jedi led him out of the tunnel and back through the starport. He saw no sign of either Togruta, and uttered a silent prayer that the sisters would encounter no more difficulties now that he was no longer with them. They came to an interrogation room with a viewing window—a far more civil-looking space than the chamber in Imperial Intelligence headquarters—and he was sat down at a metal table with two chairs.

"If he moves, kill him," Master said to Apprentice. The words were directed at Torin as much as the Twi'lek to which they were addressed. The woman closed the door and left them alone. The young Twi'lek stared him down with a barely-contained sneer on his face—Torin could only imagine what he thought of him. If Ziare had masterminded this, it would have felt more like a rescue. This was a capture, and interrogation. To what ends, he did not yet know.

The door opened again minutes later, and the Jedi woman led in a familiar face—Isatryn, still clad in the tattered black robe he had seen her in when she attacked him on Tython. Her feet were bare and dirtied, and her emerald face bore the wrinkles and bags of little sleep. Like Torin she wore Force dampeners, which the Jedi hefted atop the table as she sat down opposite him. Both Jedi then left the room, stepping in front of the viewing window to his left.

"Let's begin," came the Jedi woman's voice on the intercom. Slots on the Falleen's collar opened up, revealing her gilled neck—a sickly-sweet scent followed, flooding the room and invading his nostrils. "Where is the Mass Shadow Generator?"

Torin glanced between the viewing window and Isatryn, who remained silent. The Jedi pressed a button on her wrist and a shock went through the collar, making the Falleen spasm and kick. As the shock died down, she exhaled sharply in frustration and leaned towards Torin.

"Where is the Mass Shadow Generator?" said Isatryn.

Torin stared silently at her. He wanted to answer, he _needed _to answer—but he couldn't. "I thought they had it." He looked at the two Jedi.

Master and Apprentice exchanged words, inaudible to Torin through the glass. "What happened to Master Ziare?" said the Jedi, prompting Isatryn to repeat the question to Torin.

"She went to retrieve the Generator—to keep it away from the Empire. That was the last I saw of her."

More words were exchanged behind the window, and Torin got the impression that the nature of his answers were not what they had expected.

"Where is your Master now?"

He thought for a moment. "On Dromund Kaas."

The Jedi slammed the intercom. "Then she has defected to the Empire?" She looked at Isatryn. "Ask if his Master has defected to the Empire."

The Falleen did as asked, and Torin shook his head. "No, she's always been with the Empire."

"What does she want with the Generator? Does she plan to use it?"

"I don't know," Torin replied. "I want to stop her from finding it."

The Jedi exhaled sharply in frustration. "You said she had it!"

He shook his head. "No, Master Ziare has it."

"Then _who _are you talking about?" she exclaimed, utterly exasperated.

The door behind the Jedi opened, and Imperial soldiers filed into the room, dressed in minimal armor and without helmets or other identifying marks. It was only by virtue of who entered after them that Torin recognized them.

"Her," he said, nodding through the window to Vathamma. The robed Sith glanced from the interrogation room to the Jedi, who had their hands on their lightsabers. Maliss entered immediately after her, twin blasters in hand, pointing one at each Jedi. Her eyes momentarily connected with Torin's before quickly focusing back on her enemies.

"I'd be careful with that, if I were you." Vathamma pointed at the Jedis' inactive weapons. "Your actions here have already violated Manaan's vaunted neutrality. What would the Republic say if the Selkath cut off Kolto shipments because a few unruly Jedi wanted to have a go at me?"

The Jedi kept their hands on their weapons and their eyes on the Sith as she walked between them and leaned against the window. "A creative use of the Falleen woman. I'll be taking her—and my Apprentice."

The Jedi Master scoffed. "You'll do no such thing."

Vathamma turned to look at her. "If you wanted to keep her, you should not have brought a prisoner of war to a planet protected by treaty. She is a traitor to the Empire." She turned back to Torin and Isatryn. "Feel free to take the matter up with Manaan's council."

The two Jedi fumed silently, scanning the room and taking into account the blasters pointed at them. At last they drew their hands away from their waists and turned to leave the room. As they walked, Vathamma used the Force to press the controls on the Jedi woman's wrist, closing the Falleen's neck brace. The Jedi noticed and scowled in frustration, but did not interfere.

Once the interrogation room was drained of its air—and the Falleen's pheromones—her and Torin were marched out in their restraints, then led to a shuttle waiting at the starport. Selkath soldiers escorted them the whole way, understandably eager to be rid of what had nearly become a major diplomatic incident. There were undoubtedly some starport officials who would be out of jobs—and whatever bribes the Jedi had given them—very soon.

Both prisoners were led aboard the shuttle, and Torin was sat in a separate compartment at the rear, after which a door between him and the rest of the shuttle's occupants was closed. They took off not long afterwards, the bench below him shaking as the shuttle's thrusters kicked in.

Once they were in the air, the door opened again and Vathamma entered, shutting the partition before turning to Torin. She didnt say a word, instead bending over him and fishing around his coat pockets until she found the Black Codex. She frowned and tucked it away within her own robe, then looked back to him.

"You could have turned that shuttle around at any time—why didnt you?"

He leaned his head back against the wall.

"Nomi told me what you did."

Vathamma swallowed and grabbed onto a railing as the shuttle shook in Manaan's atmosphere.

"I did that for your own good. You saw how easily she gave up on you."

"She didnt give up on me. She risked her life to get me away from you."

"And then she fled as soon as trouble arrived, didnt she?"

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "Enough. You can't turn it off, can you? Every single word that comes out of your mouth is a way to manipulate, or control. I'm done listening to you."

She slapped him across the face, and he opened his eyes. "I wouldn't have to 'manipulate' you if you weren't so weak!" Another slap followed, this one with the back of her hand. "Ten years you're without any powers, and once you recover them, a Jedi takes you in out of the kindness of her heart?" She wound her fingers up in his hair and pointed his face at her. "And she seduces you in a matter of weeks? Pathetic!" She shoved his head back against the wall, and he made little attempt to resist her rough treatment.

"_I _found you when you were weak. _I _made you strong. Nomi, Ziare, they want to take what I built and _use _you!"

Torin let out a laugh.

"Is that funny to you?"

"Nomi doesn't want to _use _me. I begged her to take me back—and you're right, it was pathetic."

Vathamma stood up straight, her quaking fist slowly loosening. "I'll decide on your punishment once we reach Dromund Kaas. Maybe with her gone, you will come to your senses."

She went to open the partition, but Torin turned in his seat. "I _have _come to my senses. You and I are done. You're not my teacher, or my lover. You're nothing."

Her lips drew down into a scowl and her yellow eyes blazed with fury as she whirled about, backhanding him across the cheek hard enough for him to taste iron.

"Choose your next words _very _carefully." She gripped his hair and leaned in towards his face. "I could have you executed for treason. I could throw you in a hole so deep you'd never see the light of day again."

He took his lower lip into his mouth, sucking off the blood from where it had split open. "Then that's what you'll have to do."

Every muscle in her face trembled in frustration. "Nomi is still on Manaan. Imagine what I could do to her."

He laughed. "She's too smart for you to find her."

Vathamma grabbed his collar with both hands and banged him against the wall. "I am the _Director _of Imperial Intelligence!" she screamed. "I am a Lord of the Sith Empire! If you abandon me, I will decimate an entire world, and it will be your fault!"

He frowned sadly and looked her in the eyes. "I can't control the awful things you do. If I could, we never would have fought."

She shouted in anger and tossed him to the floor, then opened the partition and stormed into the shuttle's main compartment.

Minutes later the turbulence ended and the shuttle was in orbit. Minutes after _that _it set down on solid ground once again, the hiss and whine of landing gears letting Torin know that they had reached whatever ship Vathamma had brought to Manaan. Maliss opened the partition door and hoisted Torin up from his bench, then led him off the shuttle into a docking bay. Two more shuttles identical to theirs occupied it, as well as a fourth, beaten-down looking frigate—Torin assumed it to be Maliss'.

Vathamma stood near the doorway leading to the ship's interior, rubbing her head with her hand while she screwed up her face in thought.

"Where should I put him?" Maliss said.

"I don't care." Vathamma glanced at the both of them and sneered. "Somewhere uncomfortable."

She led him through the doorway and it closed after them, leaving Vathamma in the docking bay. Maliss slowed her walk while she navigated the corridors with Torin in tow, remaining silent for some time before clearing her throat.

"I only came with her because she said you were in trouble," said Maliss.

Torin snorted in dry amusement. "You came because she paid you."

They walked in silence until they came within view of the brig. Two guards were posted at the doorway, and alcove-like cells lined the room, although only one had the force field activated.

Maliss stopped Torin and turned him towards her, leaning in with a desperate look on her face. "It wasn't about money," she whispered. "Your Master had me over a barrel."

Torin's eyelids drooped as he listened to her, letting the words pass right through—they meant nothing to him.

"She's not my Master—and you're not my friend."

She gripped him tighter. "I'll find Nomi—I'll explain. You apologize to the Sith, and it'll all go back to normal."

"Find her?" He laughed. "She's gone. I've got nothing, and neither do you." He pulled from her grip and walked towards the brig, forcing her to put her hand back on his arm and lead him towards it. "Well, except money."

"We'll talk later," she whispered to him as they passed the guards. Maliss led him past the active cell—Isatryn sat on a bench inside, legs folded on her lap and eyes closed.

"No, we won't. You're the last person in the world I want to talk to. Even less than her." He jerked his head back in the direction of the docking bay, and Vathamma. "At least her motives are... complicated."

She walked him into the cell and sat him down on the bench.

"Yours are simple," he continued. "Credits." He let the word linger between them as the cell force field activated. "You _are _a mercenary, after all."

Maliss went to leave, and Torin moved to the force field to watch her exit the brig until the doors closed after her. "I just thought you were more."

He sat back down on the bench, letting the reality of his situation set in. Despite the circumstances, a strange peace washed over him. Nomi was with her sister, safe in neutral space. Whatever ultimately became of him, he had at least managed not to screw that up, though he had come very close. He had no more ties left, but that also meant no one left to hurt. There was a certain sense of security that came with having nothing and no one—without those, there was no reason to worry about what dangers the future may hold.

Hours passed without a single visitor, until finally he heard the brig door open. Footsteps followed, then an electronic whine as something happened to Isatryn's forcefield. A moment later Cipher Nine stepped in front of Torin's cell.

"Not who I was expecting," Torin said, eyeing the torturer. He had a blaster at his waist, though it was buckled firmly into its holster.

"Sorry," the Chiss said in his usual clipped tone of cold nonchalance. He deactivated the cell's forcefield and waited for Torin to stand.

"Might as well get this over with." Torin rose to his feet slowly, then took a single step forward before launching himself at the agent, swinging his cuffed hands at the man's head.

The Chiss sidestepped him and delivered a swift punch to the gut, sending Torin scrambling into the far wall before sliding to the floor.

"No more of that, alright?" The Chiss rolled him over and swiped a keycard on Torin's cuffs, releasing the locks.

Torin used a rail on the wall to pull himself to his feet and stared at the Chiss with confusion, as well as some remaining trepidation. The force field in front of Isatryn's cell had been rendered opaque, blocking out any sight or sound.

"It was a mistake to take those cuffs off." He raised his open palms to the man, waiting to see a reaction.

"I certainly hope not." He handed the keycard to Torin, who waited a moment before snatching it from his hand. "This will get you through any door on the ship—it will also allow you to use the shuttle you arrived here on."

"Why would you help me escape?"

The Chiss glanced off to the side absentmindedly. "My reasons are complex, and your time is short."

Torin began to edge past him towards the brig's exit, but a polite cough drew his attention back to the agent.

"Don't you have something to retrieve first?"

Torin thought for a moment before realizing what he meant. "The codex—I have no idea where it is."

"In your Master's bedroom, I suspect. She refused to allow me to store it in the ship's vault."

"In her room?" He smiled weakly and shook his head. "I cant beat her."

The agent nodded thoughtfully. "A fight shouldn't be necessary. It seems to me that all she wants is an apology." He handed Torin's cuffs back to him. "You catch more flies with honey."

Torin took the cuffs and left the brig, then navigated through the halls towards Vathamma's room. The Chiss had given him directions, as well as laid out the rest of his plan. Torin didn't relish the idea of relying on the goodwill of a stranger—not even a stranger, an enemy—but he had precious few options. For now, all he had was blind trust. The route to the captain's quarters had been cleared of any patrols, true to the Chiss' word, and Torin soon arrived at Vathamma's door.

He knocked on it, then waited in the cold silence of the ship's hallway.

"What?" came the venomous reply from within. He used the keycard he had been given to slide open the door and then stepped inside the room. It was part office and part bedroom, with a desk and computer terminal to the right of the entryway, and a spacious bed across the room from the doorway. On a wall beside the bed was an open closet, at which stood Vathamma.

Vathamma closed the sliding closet doors and turned around to face him as he approached. She wore a dark purple nightgown that was tied at the waist, leaving her cleavage exposed. Her eyes went wide as she saw him emerge from the shadows of the doorway. "How did you get out of your cell?" she snapped.

"I almost got out of one of your prisons before, remember?"

He brought his hands forward, revealing the bulky pair of force dampeners he had stolen from the ship's storage. She eyed them curiously, then looked back up at him with an angered expression that bore no trace of fear.

"You think you can beg for my forgiveness?"

"I didnt come here to beg. I want you to do that."

He lifted the cuffs up and examined them with a disinterested expression, then turned his attention to her. "You made me think I violated you in the worst way. Then I found out you lied—and that got me wondering what it'd be like to _really _do that to you."

She frowned and backed into the closet doors, rattling them before taking a step back forward. "You think I won't hesitate to break every bone in your body if you dare touch me?"

He continued to advance on her, eyes running up and down her body. "I don't think you'll do anything to me." He came within a foot of her and stopped, watching the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she stared up at him. "I think that for all your power, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like for someone to take it all away."

His fingers hooked into her gown, loosening it slightly as he brushed her breasts. Her legs quaked, and she leaned into his touch.

"Take your gown off."

She stood still for a moment, then slid the thin gown to the floor, leaving her torso bare.

"I want you to know what it's like to have no way to fight back." His hand went to her breast, sliding up to her throat before moving to the other side of her chest. "I want you to beg me to stop."

Still holding the cuffs in one hand, he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around, pressing her chest to the cold metal of the closet doors. She held her own wrists behind her back and he slid the cuffs on, clamping them in place. "I bet no one can hear you in here, no matter how hard you scream."

A smile flickered across her face. "The room is soundproofed."

He spun her around and slammed her shoulders back into the closet doors. "How long until someone comes to check on you?"

Her breasts heaved with heavy breaths, and she squirmed awkwardly in the restraints. "Eight hours. No man can break me in such a short time."

Torin placed his hands on the closet doors to her rear and gripped the handles. "Yeah, maybe not." He shoved her inside, drawing a startled gasp from Vathamma as she hit the rear wall and slid to the floor. He used the Force to twist the door handles together, binding them into a tight knot just as Vathamma slammed into the doors from the inside, rattling them in their grooves.

"Let me out!" she screeched. "You are _dead, _you hear me? Dead!"

"If you beg, I'll throw you a shirt!" he shouted back.

Her shouts turned to incoherent shrieks and she kicked the door over and over, making him wince in pain and cover his ear with one hand as he tossed the room for the codex. Peeking under her bed, he found a plastic case, then pulled it out and opened it. The codex was inside, set into black foam packaging. He pocketed the small cube and ran out of the room, closing the door behind him as quickly as possible to minimize the violent screaming that spilled into the corridors.

He fled through the bowels of the ship, pressing himself flat to walls to avoid what minimal patrols stalked the ship. Eventually he came to the brig, stopping before Isatryn's cell and disabling the forcefield. She looked up at him from the bench she sat on with neither surprise nor interest, though she let out an annoyed groan as he hefted her from the bench.

"What are you doing?"

"You don't want to stay here, right?" He walked her through the ship's halls, half-dragging the reluctant woman as he navigated to the docking bay while he prayed they reached it before Cipher Nine completed his end of the plan. They came to the shuttle, ramp left open, and Torin secured her shackles to a bench before taking a seat in the pilot's chair and closing the shuttle's ramp.

"We are in _hyperspace," _she said, pointing out the obvious fact that they would not be taking the shuttle out for a spin anytime soon—not unless they wanted to be torn to shreds.

Torin peered out the shuttle cockpit, scanning the docking bay, then looked back to her. "Just give it a minute."

They didnt even need to give it that. The shuttle—and the capital ship around it—shook and whined with immense strain, and the warp tunnel outside the docking bay window slowed until they were back in normal space. Torin extended the shuttle's wings and engaged the thrusters, retracting the landing gears as he punched forward on the throttle and threw them out of the hangar.

"See?" He grinned back at her. "Easy."

After only a few seconds flying through space their ship shook, laser fire from the capital vessel strafing their hull and depleting what little shield they had. Torin turned his attention to the navigational computer and punched in the first of the hyperspace coordinates Ziare had told him to memorize, then powered up the hyperdrive. More blaster fire struck them, draining their shields and turning them into a sitting duck. As the shuttle turned in space the Imperial ship came into view, and Torin could see a battery of lasers charging up for another volley. Just as the row of cannons cracked with an emulsion of plasma, their ship jumped, tossing them into hyperspace and away from the capital ship. The stars in space became thin streaks that stretched across their field of vision, putting them light years away from Vathamma's ship in the blink of an eye.

Torin sat back and exhaled slowly.

"Where are you taking me?" Isatryn said.

He rose from his seat and walked back to her, one hand gripping the overhead railing. "Were going to see someone who can help you—a Jedi."

She narrowed her eyes and sneered. "I do not need Jedi help."

"This one's different. She's wiser than the others."

"Who? Your Master?" Torin remained silent, and Isatryn pointed her cuffed hands at him. "When I am free, I will kill her _and _you."

He frowned and shook his head. "You're really talking yourself out of this rescue."

"I did not _ask _you to take me with you," she spat.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then went back to the pilot's seat and charted the remainder of their course. Several jumps would be required to reach Ziare, and he prayed that the coordinates she'd sent him in her message wouldn't send them smack into a star. The route wasn't one he was familiar with; the destination he _was _familiar with, though it was never somewhere he had expected to venture.

With that task completed he went to the shuttle compartment and rummaged around under the benches until he found a crate full of prepackaged meals. He had eaten enough of those for a lifetime on his way to Manaan, but hunger had a way of making even dried starch cubes look delectable.

"Are you hungry?" he said to Isatryn.

"Yes." She held her hands out. "Uncuff me so I can eat."

He ignored her and opened one of the packs, then took a seat next to her and dropped a packet of water onto the dried food. Crumpled, multi-colored discs became biscuits and slices of meat, turning them into something that bordered on edible. He stuck a plastic fork into one of the bits and held it out towards Isatryn.

She turned her head to him, eyes fixed on the food, then stopped and looked up. His eyes met hers and his hand shook for a moment with the intensity of her stare. Brilliant green eyes searched his, and he found himself leaning towards her.

"What?" he murmured.

She opened her mouth wide and bit down on his hand, locking her teeth onto the flesh of his palm between thumb and index finger. He cursed and swore, yanking his hand from side to side until he managed to pull it free of her jaw.

"What the fuck?" he shouted, jumping off of the bench and holding his bleeding hand.

She glared up at him, blood dripping from her lips. "I am not your pet!"

"Apparently you're a wild animal." He picked up the container of food from the bench and dropped it to the floor in front of her. "If you get hungry, feel free to mash your face into that."

With that he stomped back to the front of the ship, leaving the Falleen to lick her lips clean and stew silently. Torin's internal clock was too screwed up from planet-jumping to have any concept of 'nighttime' in the depths of starless space, but he possessed the next most effective sleep-aid—exhaustion. With a few more furtive glances back at his captive he tipped back his chair, then curled up on his side with a coat under his head. As soon as sleep began to creep into the corners of his mind he jerked upright, and went to double-check the Falleen's restraints.

_Then _he went to sleep.

* * *

Nomi did not leave Manaan when her shuttle was refueled. Instead, she marched her sister aboard and forced her down into the pilot's seat, ordering the younger woman to continue to their planned destination. There, Nomi assured her, she would meet her sister.

Then, Nomi went from docking bay to docking bay until she found the Jedi's' ship. They did not seem to be aboard, so she sat on the entry ramp by the sealed door, waiting for them to arrive. Hours later they did, looking very weary from what was undoubtedly an exhausting session of politics with the Selkath governing body. Their eyes fell on Nomi as soon as they entered the bay, and they approached cautiously until they saw that she posed no threat.

"You were that Sith's slave, yes?" said the Padawan.

Nomi narrowed her eyes at her. "I am not a _slave," _she spat. "And he is not a Sith. I served in Imperial Intelligence on Dromund Kaas."

The Jedi exchanged surprised glances, and the Master knelt in front of Nomi. "A Togruta? That's quite a bold claim. I take it you have some bold demands, as well."

Nomi pressed her lips together proudly and nodded. "A home in the Republic, for my sister and I."

"If you are what you say, I can make such a thing happen." Both women remained silent for a moment. "Anything else?"

"I want the Director dead."

"That's…" the Jedi Master trailed off and glanced back at her Apprentice. "We do not even know who the current Director is."

"You should," Nomi shot back. "You just met her—and you allowed her to leave."


	11. The Abyss Gazes Back

Cipher Nine knocked on the door to the captain's chambers, then waited a moment before entering. Vathamma sat to the right of the entryway, elbow leaned on her desk and hand rubbing at her head.

"Darth Crucia," he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned towards him, still massaging her temple. "Tell me the tracker you placed on him is still active."

"I'm afraid it's been disabled. It's likely he surmised that was how we tracked him to Manaan, and then disabled it after his escape."

She looked up at him with tired eyes. "So we have no idea where he is going?"

"Their shuttle's signature was registered in two Imperial systems-they seem to be moving towards the Unknown Regions."

She sat up in her chair and opened her mouth as if to ask _why _he would be going to the unknown regions, but quickly realized that the agent would have no better idea than her.

"You can't be more specific than that?"

He shook his head. "Not with what we know now."

"How did he escape?" she asked. "He was locked in a cell with Force dampeners."

"I suppose he's just that capable."

She rolled her eyes. "He's not _that _capable."

"With all due respect, he _did _manage to subdue you." The Chiss looked around the room pristine room. "Why, it hardly looks like there was a fight at all."

The Sith's lip twitched in anger. "Get us moving in his direction, and get to work figuring out where he is headed. I want the codex _back, _and I want him in _chains_."

The agent nodded, then clicked his heels and left the room.

* * *

"Why are you taking me with you?"

Torin turned to look at his formerly-silent travelmate. She hadn't said a word in nearly a day.

"I already told you."

She let out a low growl of annoyance. "I do not _need _your help. You think you can redeem me?" He remained silent, and she leaned forward to glare at him. "Hate is all I am. If you want to do away with that, you will have to kill me."

"You're not _hate, _you're a _person who hates—_and I don't even know why."

"Because you took away my home, twice!" She screamed, straining her voice. Despite how quiet she was, the outburst shook him in his seat. "You have everything, and I have nothing."

He scoffed and gestured outwards. "What do I have?" She didn't answer, and he turned back around. "Except the worst conversation partner in the galaxy."

Another day of travel, and they had reached their destination. Rakata Prime, a tropical jewel of a world stuck on the far end of the galaxy—and a historical preserve completely forbidden to outsiders. The last thing Torin expected was to receive a communication as soon as he reached orbit.

"Identify yourselves or we will respond with force," came a stern voice on the other end of the call.

"Uh..." He glanced back at Isatryn, and she simply stared at him blankly. "Torin Val, here to see... Master Ziare," he stammered off quickly. "Imperial Shuttle number 617—"

"Land at these coordinates," the man said, then ended the call.

Torin breathed a sigh of relief and set the planetary destination, then sat back and let the autopilot bring them in, moving below the planet's atmosphere as they flew from continent to continent.

As they descended low enough to nearly scrape the tops of enormous pines dotting lush grassland, a stone structure came into view. A tall cylinder of gray rock supported by three, even taller, buttressed spires. It sat on the edge of an oceanside cliff, straddling a canyon that cut through the plateau. Below the ruin raged a river that flowed in from the ocean, carrying saltwater inland. The structure was impressive enough, but more surprising was the activity surrounding it.

Rakata Prime was an archaeological preserve, not a planet of strategic importance, yet the temple-looking building was surrounded by anti-aircraft emplacements, portable barricades, and dozens of figures moving to and from the building to waiting shuttles on temporary launchpads nearby.

He set down on one of the open pads, and unhooked Isatryn's restraints from her bench before leading her out of the lowering ramp. Ziare stood off in a field between him and the temple, flanked by two uniformed men, giving him another surprise—one man wore the black armor of an Imperial trooper, while the other had the sort of white plasteel Republic-issued breastplate Torin himself had worn in battle. Despite the strangeness of the situation he walked hastily towards the Jedi, ecstatic to finally see a friendly face.

As Torin and Isatryn neared Ziare, the Republic soldier by her side rushed over, taking charge of the Falleen while Ziare greeted Torin with a bright smile. Torin's eyes momentarily caught those of the guard's—they were glassy and unfocused, as if they looked right through everything and registered nothing.

"You made it," she said. "I never doubted for a moment."

He glanced away and smiled while he reached into his tunic pocket. "I did." He pulled out the codex and handed it to Ziare, who took it gingerly in her hands, then passed it to the man at her side. He accepted it with no less care, then took it to a waiting shuttle on one of the landing pads.

"What _is _all this?" He scanned the buzz of activity taking place around the temple.

She looked up at the sky and pointed upwards. "Do you know what that debris is?"

He squinted up at the rocky field barely visible past the bright blue sky. "An asteroid field?"

"Rakata Prime has no natural asteroid field. Those are the remains of the Star Forge."

"The what?"

Ziare motioned for her follower to lead Isatryn along with them, then began walking towards the Temple. "A factory built in a time so long past that dates would be meaningless. The Sith Lords Revan and Malak rediscovered it after the Mandalorian Wars, when they first disappeared—perhaps that is what brought about their fall."

"A _factory _made them fall to the Dark Side?"

"That term is adequate for its function, but not its nature. The race that built it mastered the art of wedding the Force and technology—the Dark Side flowed through the Star Forge, powering its infernal mechanisms."

"That... sounds like the Mass Shadow Generator." He watched Ziare's face for any recognizable expression, but she continued moving with an unflappable grace.

"Actually, it's more like the temple you see here." She gestured in front of them. "It, too, is steeped in the Dark Side. These men hope to use it to build an army."

He swallowed and eyed her uneasily. "So what are you doing here?" Personnel walked past them through the field, bearing Imperial and Republic insignia alike. Ziare waited for them to move out of earshot before responding.

"What do you know of the Order of Revan?"

"I know who _Revan _was... I didnt know he had still had followers."

"Who Revan _is," _she corrected him. "And yes, he has followers—their ranks swell with each passing day."

"And you're following this... order?"

"No. I lent them my resources, but our interests will soon diverge."

Torin stopped and held his arms out wide. "Then _what _are we doing here?" He exclaimed in utter exasperation. "Why did you hide the Mass Shadow Generator from the Jedi? Why did you have me bring you the codex?"

"I promised you that I would tell you everything—it was a guarantee I made too many times. Here, now, I will make good on that promise. I told you that I saw how to save everyone."

"It sounded... grandiose."

She looked at him and cocked a half smile. "Or insane?"

He let out a short laugh. "Maybe a little bit."

"It's not insane if you can do it." They started walking again, moving up a stone ramp that led into the temple's grand entrance. "I told you that the Force is a living thing, like you or I. It invests us with power as it wills. I could strike down the _Sith Emperor_himself and it would not make a bit of difference. There were a thousand like him before us, and there will be a thousand like him after us."

As they moved further into the temple, they came to a massive stone door a hundred feet high. Locking mechanisms as tall as a man and as wide as the hall spanned the door, the bottom-most one just above the floor and the top-most high above, near the ceiling.

"Can you move those?" Ziare said to Torin.

He eyed them uncertainly before shaking his hands to warm up, then stepping forward and reaching out for the pillar-like slabs. They wouldn't budge, no matter how much he strained. All his efforts earned him was a sprinkle of dust from the ceiling and a throbbing pain in his right hand.

"There's no way," he said.

"When did you last eat?"

He thought for a moment. "Eight hours ago? But I doubt that's why."

"I know." She stepped past him and flung her hands from side to side, easily sliding the huge slabs of stone into the empty slots beside the door. With a final shove she pushed on the doors, flinging them against the inside of the hall with a thunderous boom that shook the temple.

She lowered her hands and turned to him. "Would you run a marathon on an empty stomach?"

He jogged after her as she started through the doorway. "That sounds like a metaphor, but I'm not following it."

"You used to be a farmer, yes?"

"A _long _time ago." He looked away and rubbed his chin. "Wait, no—not even a year ago. It felt longer."

"What was the most vicious predator on your homeworld?"

"The Graul," he answered quickly. "Like slightly nicer Rancors."

"What would happen if you hunted them all down?"

"The Kath hounds would run wild, for one. That's why we always left the Graul alone."

"An ecosystem is a fragile thing." Ziare held her open palms out in front of her, like the two sides of a scale. "But the universe, one way or another, finds a way to keep the balance."

He frowned. "It doesn't feel very balanced."

She leaned forward as they walked and looked him in the eyes. "That is why it needs us."

"To do what?"

"To restore balance."

"To the Force?"

She frowned. "You were not listening closely enough. The Force _is _the imbalance."

They stopped in a central chamber upon which three more halls converged. Water flowed in from channels in the floor to their right and left, converging on a channel that flowed off into the hall ahead of them. A pedestal lay at the center of the room next to the intersecting streams, holding what looked to be a holocron—except far larger than any Torin had seen before. With red panels and gray metal, it was just over half his height.

"Sometimes, the universe becomes so out of balance that the traditional levers at its disposal just won't do. It has to introduce something new. A plague, a meteor, a purging fire that can wipe away the vines strangling the forest and allow the flowers to bloom again." She turned back to him. "Or us."

He stared at her, leaning away slightly. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that for only a small sacrifice, we can create a paradise—one where our fates are decided by ourselves, not some higher power—and where the average man isn't hounded by monsters with powers unimaginable." She shot a hostile glance at Isatryn.

"A _small _sacrifice?"

She folded her hands in front of her. "Yes, but not ours. You and I have sacrificed enough." She pulled a small sphere from her sleeve and tossed it into the air between them, where it hovered. A hologram was projected forth, depicting the inner workings of some mechanical device. "The Jedi wanted to hide this weapon. I want to use it to end the war between Dark and Light."

"How?"

"By putting an end to the Force."

He looked up at her with a faint smile before seeing that her expression remained unchanged, and the corners of his lips turned downward. "You're serious?"

"We will strike at it through its living conduits—and you will be there to prevent that power from returning to its source." She walked towards him and put both hands on his shoulders. "You will be a living God, in a new age of man."

Torin stared at her in horror, and Ziare looked past him before snapping her fingers. The man following them brought Isatryn forward, then forced her to her knees.

"You were taught by those who rely on the _Force _to grant them power. You thought yourself weak, but you are not—they are." She grabbed his hands and put them on either side of Isatryn's head. "You are not granted power, you _take _it. Up until now you have behaved as a scavenger, but you are not." She circled around until she was standing behind Isatryn, the Jedi's eyes focused on Torin's.

"You are a predator."

He looked down at the Falleen, her formerly expressionless face a furious scowl.

"Take her power," said Ziare. "Make it yours."

"I brought her here so you could _help _her," he pleaded. "She's crazy, not evil!"

Ziare clicked her teeth and shook her head. "There is no helping her." Torin looked up at Ziare. "Some people are simply broken."

He turned his attention back to Isatryn, his hands trembling as he felt the Force flowing through her. It was there, unmistakable, like a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them clear before taking a deep breath in.

"I'm sorry," he gasped out.

Torin swung his hands down at her cuffs and used the Force to cleave them in two, sending them clattering to the floor. Isatryn spun around and grabbed Ziare's lightsaber, spiralling it in front of her in a green blur. Torin gasped and moved to pull Isatryn away, but he was too late. Ziare screamed as both of her hands fell to the floor, the stumps of her wrists smoldering like lit cigars.

Torin shoved Isatryn to the ground and moved towards Ziare, but stopped nearly as soon as he had started. With a pained groan Ziare held her wrists out towards the silent soldier that had escorted them. Yellow wisps of ethereal energy flowed through the air from him to her, and his flesh cracked and shrivelled as Ziare's severed hands grew from thin air, her flesh burning orange and yellow as it re-assembled. Torin backed away in terror, watching as the man fell to his knees, his body a dessicated husk without color or life.

"Run!" He pulled Isatryn to her feet, then took off running past the holocron and towards the opposite hall. Isatryn ran alongside him to his left, but she fell out of view and he turned to see her struggling with the lightsaber she had taken from Ziare. Across the room, Ziare pulled on it with the Force, slowly walking towards them.

"Let it go!" He pulled on Isatryn again and she relented, allowing the saber to fly into Ziare's waiting hand.

All three took off running, and Torin prayed that the water channel he was following led somewhere. Ziare's footsteps continued behind him, and he raced as fast as he could away from the woman. He didnt know what that was, or what she had done—but it wasn't the woman he knew.

Torin and Isatryn jogged down a slope within the tunnel. Water sprayed up from the channel beside them, racing towards a huge open hole in the floor. Far below was a raging river, the temple stream merging with it hundreds of feet below them.

The temple shook, and Torin turned to see Ziare leaping down the slope after them, swinging her blade at Isatryn. Torin used the Force to fling the Falleen towards the hole, and she landed feet from the edge. The Jedi's blade met open floor, cutting a swathe of destruction through the white brick.

"Torin, stop!" she yelled, her voice an anguished plea.

He didnt look back. He kept running towards the opening, grabbing Isatryn by the collar of her robe before she could rise to her feet, then leapt off the edge, pulling her with him.

Ziare slowed her sprint to a jog and peered over the edge, eyes searching the white foam and rocky canyon rapids below for any sign of the two. After a few moments she deactivated her lightsaber and squatted down, holding her hands to her face as she sobbed.

"No, no, no..." she muttered, shaking her head.

Another blast came, this one more powerful than the last. She rocked back and forth on her heels, only bringing her hands away from her face when a call sounded on her communicator.

"What is it?" she said.

"An Imperial strike team has breached the Temple, Master—more may be on their way. Shall we deploy forces alongside Colonel Darok and Darth Arkous?"

She stood up and took a deep breath in. "No," she muttered. "We're leaving."

* * *

As soon as Torin hit the water, his world became a rushing roar that made direction meaningless and blocked out everything but the violent current sweeping him along. Isatryn had slipped from his grip as soon as they'd landed, and his attempts to grab onto her only made it easier for rocks and driftwood to bash into his sides as he was carried downstream.

He used the Force to project a protective field around his body, but the sheer chaos all around him made concentrating nearly impossible. Explosive shockwaves shot through the water, larger versions of what he had felt while fleeing the temple.

Then, without warning, he was in mid-air, suspended over a dark cavern that opened forth like the jaws of some hungry beast. A moment later he was falling, flying downward along with the river as it continued as a waterfall into the pit. In a panic he threw a blast of force downwards, rippling the faintly-visible ground below him and slowing his descent. Hard rock smashed into his side as he landed in a shallow expanse of water that covered the pitch-black bottom of the cave.

Groaning in pain and rolling onto his back, he looked far above towards the opening of the cavern. The light flooding in with the water grew dimmer, then vanished completely as a massive chunk of carved stone from the temple rolled into the gap, shaking the cavern with a terrible boom that sent him falling onto his backside.

No sooner had he sat back up than something struck him in the forehead, sending his head smacking back into the ground behind him. The darkness all around him grew even darker, and the faint trickle of water became muffled before stopping completely.

After some time, the sound of water echoing in the cave returned. His surroundings were as dark as they had ever been, and it was difficult to tell if he had been knocked out by the blow—let alone to know for how long. Cool water covered his backside, and he swiveled his head from left to right to get an idea of his surroundings—but there was nothing. Just endless blackness in every direction, with only the echo of water dripping on stone to give him an idea of the immensity of the cavern.

He staggered to his feet, a task that proved surprisingly difficult in the pitch blackness. Ahead of him came the _drip-drip _of water, that slow trickle the last remnants of the waterfall he had been carried down on.

Holding his hands out in front of him, he turned around and took a few steps in the darkness before nearly losing his footing on sloped ground. Heart pounding, he turned back towards the trickle of water and walked until he felt a sheer, vertical wall—it wasn't something he could hope to climb. He backed away from it until his foot struck something hard, then turned around and bent over to feel at the large, flat stone he had nearly tripped over.

With a sigh he sat down on it, cradling his head in his hands. This was it, he thought. He would starve to death in this cave with nothing and no one left in the galaxy to miss him. Everything was ruined—it was hard to remember a time when things had been right, if they _ever _had been.

He was going to die in here.

"Who said that?" He lifted his head from his hands and looked around the cavern, seeing only blackness.

"You're going to die in here."

Torin spun about on the rock. Behind him hovered two yellow pinpricks of light, bobbing lightly up and down in the darkness. As they moved towards him they faintly illuminated a human face—his own. It was like looking in a mirror, save the two eyes that glowed like burning embers.

"Who are you?" Torin exclaimed, trying—and failing—to mask his fear with anger.

The man was dressed in all black, and walked with both hands held behind him.

"You couldn't settle for pushing everyone away, could you?" He looked up at where the river stream had been plugged. "You had to go and bury us."

Torin eyed him cautiously, hands hovering above his knees as he prepared to react.

"It's for the best, though. Everyone we love either runs away or turns into a monster."

"Shut up," Torin muttered.

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it's us? We _are _the common element."

"Shut UP!" He threw his hands out to his sides, and a wave of electricity followed, spreading throughout the cave in all directions and briefly illuminating the dozens of passageways surrounding it. When Torin opened his eyes the man was gone, and he slowly let out his breath.

"Anger didnt get you here." Hands gripped his shoulders, and he snapped his head back to see those eyes staring at him again. "It won't get you out of here, either. Greed stuck you in this deep dark hole."

Torin gritted his teeth and flung the man back into the water, then stood up from the rock. "Greed? What have I ever asked for?"

The man pushed himself to his feet. "Oh, we're too clever to ask. We find someone who wants to give, and we take."

Torin shot a blast of lightning at the man. It sailed right through, striking a wall off in the distance. With an anguished growl Torin sat back down, rubbing his hands on the sides of his head.

"What are you, a spirit?" Torin shouted. "Some vision of the Dark Side?"

The man smirked. "He says, as he screams and shoots lightning from his fingertips." He kept walking until he stood in front of Torin, then stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned over. "We loved that woman. Why'd we leave her?"

"Because she's _evil," _Torin snapped. "It took me too long to see it."

The man raised an eyebrow and wrinkled his lips. "She was ready to kill thousands of people, but we couldn't wait to dive back between those thighs."

"She _brainwashed _me," he said under his breath. "She made Nomi—"

"Ah!" The man clicked his teeth and wagged a finger at Torin, then stood up. "There it is. So she can kill enough people to fill this room, but as soon as she takes away one of your trophies, she's crossed the line?"

"Trophy?" Torin spat. "And it's _not _that simple."

"Hmm." The man looked Torin up and down, golden eyes seeming to peer right through him. "Why did you leave Nomi?"

"I didn't _leave _her, I let her go!"

"As I recall, we were all ready to play some mind games." He wiggled his fingers beside his head. "Why did you stop?"

"It wouldn't be real," Torin replied. "She wouldnt really love me."

"Oh." The man frowned. "So not because it's wrong, or immoral, or manipulative—it just wouldn't make you feel good."

Torin opened his mouth as if to object before stopping and hanging his head in his hands.

"How about that woman out there?" The man thumbed back towards the river above them. "The green one."

Torin sneered and held his hands out in exasperation. "I... was lonely and wanted someone to fuck on the way here. Is that what you wanted to hear?" The man remained silent. "Go on, explain how I didn't actually want to help her."

"How can you help her if you won't listen to her?" The man vanished from in front of him, and a pressure appeared on Torin's shoulder. He turned to see the man sitting beside him, hand on his shoulder. "You want to dig yourself out of this hole?"

Torin remained silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Then take these. I'm tired of carrying them."

The darkness of the cavern disappeared, replaced by a brilliant white light that faded to reveal the stately gardens of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It was just as he had seen it before—first in his dreams, then in the memories Ziare had shared with him.

He was a young child again, rushing through the grassy gardens and calling Isatryn's name. Not a detail was missing. The whirr of cruisers overhead, the rustle of leaves around him, the warm air blowing past his face—all were crystal clear, as if this was his present.

He knew how this memory ended, but he let it play out as it always had, with him pushing past the bushes to find Isatryn cradled against a wall, covered in bruises and dirt. Inching forward, he reached out to touch her, but stopped when her head shot up.

This time, however, one small detail was clearer. Tucked under her robe and wrapped around her gilled neck was a metal collar, much like the one the Jedi had put her in on Manaan. As his eyes ran over her tearstained face and bloodshot eyes, an anger welled within his heart and set his blood boiling.

"Kill them," she hissed, then tucked her head back between her legs.

Heart pounding and mind swimming in rage, he tore back out of the bushes. The children racing towards him slid to a stop, then started backing away as they exchanged nervous glances.

Chest heaving with labored breaths, Torin reached out and hefted two boys into the air by the neck, squeezing them with a power he had not known the Force contained.

Then, time froze... and rewound. Passing that memory by, he relived each one in series, filling in the gaps that had long remained in his memory. Gradually, a new enemy became an old friend, and a sense of great shame washed over him.

The visions faded, and his eyes opened—he was once again in darkness.

Energy welled in his hands, and he looked down to see pinpoints of white light flowing from his palms like beads of sweat before fading away into nothingness. He pressed the sides of his palms together, cupping his hands and feeling the power until he could focus it. He could project lightning from his fingers by prodding his anger like one would stoke a raging fire. This, however, demanded a gentler touch—like a burgeoning flame on a heap of kindle that would go out if you blew too hard.

Minute after minute passed as he brought the pinpoints of light together, extending their lifespan until a single, radiant ball of light floated between his palms, sustained by the energy flowing into it from his hands. All around him the cavern was bathed in a radiant white light, every jagged wall and curving corridor illuminated like the sun itself were in there with him.

Torin stood up slowly and looked down at the pool of water at his feet. It was subtle, but there was movement—a slow, continuous flow in one direction, away from the waterfall. He looked up towards a pathway ahead of him, down which a steady stream of water gently flowed, and then began to follow the treacherous-looking path down.

The way was not easy, but it was clear.


	12. Third Time's The Charm

Vathamma's shuttle neared the surface of Rakata Prime, setting down on one of the few remaining landing pads near an ancient temple overlooking the ocean—though it wasn't a temple so much as a ruin. Half of the central structure had sheared clean off, leaving the innards of the building visible from the exterior. Much of it had fallen into the canyon below, damming up the ocean inlet and reducing the flow of water downstream to a trickle. All around the cliffside surrounding the temple fires still raged, destroyed droids and wrecked barricades littering the grasslands in a trail of destruction that led to the temple's collapsed archway.

The shuttle set down and Vathamma walked down the ramp towards the stone ruin, flanked by helmeted guards in black armor with heavy carbines at the ready. A figure emerged from the wreckage up ahead, and the guards pointed their weapons at him before Vathamma raised a steadying hand. Cipher Nine walked towards her, the Chiss' blue skin covered in soot and his formerly-pristine black hair a mess.

"Darth Crucia," he called out, standing tall as they walked towards each other. "I tried to send word—"

She reached out and lifted him into the air, then tossed him against a barricade. Before he could rise, the guards beside Vathamma rushed over and struck him with their rifles, then pulled him to his knees.

"Why is it that I have to plant a tracker on your ship to find out where you're going?" Vathamma stopped in front of him and looked over at the ruined temple. "And _why _do I suspect that my Apprentice didnt escape without help—and that he never removed_his _tracker at all?"

"I couldn't come to you. I didn't yet know who I could trust."

"I don't care if you _trust _me—you _work _for me. Now, where is my Apprentice?"

The agent swallowed. "There was never a tracker on your Apprentice—only on the Codex."

Her mouth turned down into a scowl. "Then _why _get him involved in this?"

"There is a vast conspiracy at work, and your Apprentice has become part of it. I needed him to lead me to their hideout."

"Whose hideout?"

"The Revanites."

She laughed. "That cult of navel-gazing fools? You'll have to do better than that."

"He's real!" Cipher Nine shouted. "Revan is alive, and leading them!"

Vathamma snapped her fingers and one of the guards struck the Chiss in the head with the butt of his rifle. The agent grunted and wobbled back and forth, nearly laid low by the blow.

"If you truly believe that, then you're more stupid than I thought."

He took a moment to recover his senses, then looked up at her. "They have agents everywhere—in the highest echelons of both Empire and Republic. That was why I couldn't come to you."

"Traitors at the highest level of Imperial government?" She stroked her chin and nodded thoughtfully. "Now _that, _I can believe." She held her hand out to one of her soldiers, who passed her a datapad from his belt. She knelt down and held it in front of Cipher Nine, showing him the video playing on screen.

Cipher Nine, along with a bald, pale-skinned Rattataki woman, ducked behind cover on the stone roof of the temple as they received fire from an unseen assailant. A red-skinned Sith stalked towards them, lightsaber in hand, but was forced to turn and block blaster fire from another source off-screen. A figure leapt in from the other direction, driving her red saber through the man's back. The video paused, qjd Vathamma zoomed in on the pair. Pictured clear as day was Lana Beniko, her lightsaber stabbed through the heart of her stunned superior—Darth Arkous.

"I received this security footage on my way here." She turned the datapad towards her and raised her eyebrows. "Apparently, Darth Arkous trusted me more than I knew."

Cipher Nine's eyes narrowed. "That video is a lie."

"Are you saying this footage was _faked?"_

"No, I am saying it does not tell you the truth. Darth Arkous was a traitor—he came here to build an army for the Revanites."

Vathamma stood up and gestured around. "Where is this army?"

"The project was destroyed, along with the temple. Revan's fleet arrived and fired on us after Arkous fell."

Vathamma rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers, prompting her soldier to give the Chiss another blow to the head.

"Tell me if I have this right." Vathamma held crossed her arms and held her chin with her fingers. "You let my Apprentice steal an invaluable data container, so that you could follow him here, without telling your superior." She held her hand to her chest. "The head of Military Offense is murdered, and a 400-year old _dead man _arrives with a fleet to erase any evidence of Darth Arkous' supposed misdeeds."

The Chiss remained silent.

"And where is Advisor Beniko, hmm?"

"She fled."

Vathamma held her arms out to her side. "How convenient! His murderer isn't even here to offer a defense for her actions, and leaves _you _to feed me an absurd ghost story."

She nodded to her men, and they hoisted the Chiss to his feet. "Lana Beniko murdered Darth Arkous." She lowered her voice to a menacing whisper and stepped closer to him. "What I need to know is whether you _helped _her murder one of the Empire's leading military officials, or if you were there to _stop _her, because you suspected her to be working with the Republic."

"The Republic?" He smiled in disbelief. "This isn't about the _Republic!"_

"I don't want to hear any more about your ridiculous 'Star Cabals' or 'Revanites'." Her face twisted up in anger, and she flung her finger at the ground. "That Jedi twists my Apprentice's mind and lures him here? This is the Republic, using the veil of old conspiracies to strike at the Empire from within!."

The Chiss made as if to speak, but stopped and hung his head.

"Now!" She lifted up his chin. "Do I need to have one of the Empire's finest heroes executed for treason? Or will he help stop another Darth Jadus and Darth Malgus?"

Cipher Nine took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. "Lana Beniko murdered Darth Arkous. I came here because I suspected her of working with the Republic."

Vathamma drew her hand away from his face and smiled. "I knew it! Well done, Cipher Nine."

She turned and made for her shuttle, and the two soldiers dropped the Chiss back to the ground where he landed on all fours.

"I trust you parked your ship somewhere nearby!" she shouted back as she walked up the ramp of her shuttle.

* * *

Torin followed the stream of water through the winding cavern, all the while keeping the light between his hands lit. The corridor grew narrow at times, and he found himself having to wedge his body through narrow passages while he kept the glowing orb suspended over one hand. Eventually the cavern widened again, opening up into a broad, flat space that looked out on a rocky, sun-lit stream. Emerging from the cave, he looked to his right and saw that he was now miles downriver of the temple he had fled, and far below the cliffs it straddled.

The temple had been reduced to rubble by whatever explosions he had heard rocking it, and the debris had fallen into the canyon below, blocking the majority of the flow of water with massive chunks of carved stone. To his left lay an expanse of jungle that hung over the slowly-flowing river, obscuring its path. Isatryn was sitting by the stream, her head buried between her knees. Torin approached cautiously, throwing a wary glance back at the Temple and the shuttles ascending towards the sky above.

"We need to move." He leaned over her and shook her shoulder. "Hey!"

"Hold your face over the water," she said.

His heartbeat slowed and his vision rippled, and he found his legs moving towards the river. He knelt down onto all fours and walked forward until he was near the middle of the river, staring down at two feet of slowly flowing water. A foot pressed on the back of his head, pushing him down until his nose touched the water.

"Why did you bring me here?" she said.

"I thought Ziare could help you."

"The truth!" she hissed, pressing down so that water splashed into his nostrils. "Tell me the truth!"

He swallowed. "I don't know what to say. I wanted to help you."

Her breathing became rapid and she leaned her weight down on him. Water rushed over his face and he held his breath, but eventually found his body rebelling, forcing him to try to breathe and flooding his mouth and nose. His body trembled, but he couldn't force himself to move despite the screams in his head telling him to do so.

Just when his spasms grew weak and blackness crept into the edges of his vision, two hands grabbed the neck of his tunic and threw him onto the rocky shore.

"Don't die," said Isatryn—it was more of a command than a request. He rolled over onto his stomach and coughed up the water that had filled his lungs, then rested his head on his forearm while he appreciated the sensation of dry air moving in and out of his mouth.

Isatryn rolled him over onto his back and looked down at him, her head blocking out the sun and braided hair dangling over his face.

"I could have killed you." He swallowed and nodded slowly in response. "That means I'm better than you! I win!"

He lay there silently for a moment. "You win," he said in agreement.

She stepped back and he rose to his feet to see that her back was turned to him.

"I got you kicked out of the Jedi Academy. Sorry..." He glanced aside and scratched at his face. "...Sister."

Her shoulders twitched and she crossed her arms. He reached out to touch her, but she spun around and slapped his hand away.

"Just because I spared your life doesn't mean we're friends. You are my slave now, and you're going to get me off of this planet."

"I was already going to do that."

Her lip quivered in anger and her shoulders hunched before relaxing. "How?"

Torin looked back at the temple ruins straddling the cliff. The ships around it were leaving en masse, flying an Imperial cruiser faintly visible above the planet's atmosphere.

"I don't know, but we should find somewhere to sleep before nightfall."

"And then what?" she hissed. "I need a ship!" She pointed back towards the temple.

"You want to go back after what you just saw?" She remained silent. "Whatever happened back there, they're leaving in a hurry—we might be able to return and grab the shuttle we arrived in."

It was a poor plan, but he didnt have a better one. He was afraid—afraid to go back there and again face whatever Ziare had become. Fleeing into the jungle of an alien world seemed a far sight safer.

He and Isatryn walked through the forest, the canopy and underbrush growing thicker the longer they walked. Little sunlight came in through the dense foliage above, and then even less as night fell and clouds covered the two moons shining down on them. A trickle of rain began to fall, turning the leaf-covered ground into a morass that turned walking into a laborious, squelching affair. He peered through the night jungle as the rain grew thicker, looking for somewhere to stop, but there was none—only palms, shallow ravines, and a torrential downpour that soaked him and put a chill in his bones.

Then, he saw something in a group of towering palms ahead of them. It wasn't a _working _starship, but for someone on the verge of hypothermia, it was the next best thing—the ruins of a vessel, strewn about the jungle floor and strangled by vines that wound around the remnants of the hull on their way up to the canopy above. Not much remained of the structure, except for a short section of hallway with a floor and ceiling still intact. Torin ushered Isatryn inside and sat down, throwing off his soaking jacket once they were free of the rain. Isatryn shivered in her wet robe as she sat down and pushed herself up against the wall.

"I'm cold," she hissed. "Fix it."

He looked around the room—if he could call it something so generous—until his eyes fell on a dry section of vine that had pierced the hull and grown through the interior panelling. He snapped a chunk off and shredded it into thin strips on the floor, careful to avoid any of the growing pools of water near the hall's entrance. Twice more he repeated the process, until he had accumulated a respectable pile of kindling. Pointing his fingertips at it he tried to project electricity onto the wood, but succeeded in creating only a few weak sparks that leapt inches into the air before fading away.

Isatryn slapped his hand away and held hers to either side of the kindling, then sent a surge of current between her palms that set the kindling alight. Torin gathered more bits of vine from around him and surrounded the burgeoning flame with it, then sat back and watched as the fire roared to life and Isatryn kept shivering.

"You need to get that robe off." He pointed at her soaking black rags.

She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. "Give me your pants and shirt, then turn away."

He obeyed, tossing it through the flame and then rotating himself so that he sat cross-legged facing the wall.

"Turn around."

Isatryn had pulled on his gray pants and white undershirt, practically swimming in them—except for her breasts, which the shirt clung to and made abundantly clear that she was still _very _cold. She folded her hands under her armpits and rocked back and forth while he shivered in half-nude silence.

"I'm still cold!"

"Do you want these, too?" He plucked at the hem of his underwear.

"I _want _you to make me warmer."

He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to Isatryn, then slid down between her and the wall so that his legs were extended on either side of her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest.

"Stop, stop!" He froze in place, and she looked back at him. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what else to do," he replied.

She turned back around, both of them watching the fire crackle and throw off embers that drifted out into the jungle before being extinguished. Rain beat down on every square inch of the hallway in a continuous pitter-patter that became relaxing in its unending roar. Neither one of them was shivering anymore, and Isatryn shrunk deeper into his grip.

"I can feel your heartbeat," she said, pressing her back to his chest. "You want to touch me, don't you?"

"Yeah." His reply came before he could stop it.

She lowered her arms to her side. "So do it."

He unwrapped his arms from her torso and pressed down on her shoulders, rounding her back away from him, then began running his palm up her back, feeling the ridged spine under her shirt that ran up to the base of her skull.

"What the _hell _are you doing?" she said.

He rubbed his fingers up and down the scaled ridges on her neck. "I couldn't stop wondering what this would feel like," he gasped. "It's like petting a lizard."

She shook her head back and let out a low grumble. "I'm going to sleep. Keep watch."

And keep watch is what he did—for hour after hour, until the sun rose and pierced the jungle canopy. Isatryn snored between his spread legs, curled up into a tight ball that jerked and mumbled every few minutes. He wanted nothing more than to allow himself to join her in sleep, but his mind wouldn't allow it.

Birds crowed outside their makeshift cave, and Isatryn rolled onto her buttocks before roughly shoving off of Torin. He looked up at her with drooping eyelids that felt as if lead weights hung from them.

"Find me something to eat," she said.

With an involuntary groan he staggered to his feet and stepped into the jungle, walking through dense bush in nothing more than his briefs and boots. Warmth had returned to the forest, but the bugs biting at his exposed skin had him wishing for his clothing back.

He heard the calls of animals high in the trees, but he'd yet to actually see one—only hear the rustle of leaves as small rodents scampered from branch to branch and birds fled his approach. Eventually he came across a flowering tree with ripe-looking fruit hanging from branches far above. He reached out with the Force and plucked one, then returned to the shipwreck and handed the fruit to Isatryn, who sat on the edge of the hall with her feet dangling above the wet ground.

She snatched the massive fruit from him and spun it about in her hands, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Is this poisonous?" she said. "Are you trying to poison me?"

He held his arms out and gave her an exhausted look. "I have no idea if it's poisonous. I don't know _anything _about this planet."

She handed the fruit to him. "Eat it."

He took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully and letting the sweet nectar soak into his mouth before taking another bite. Isatryn's suspicious glare changed to one of horror as she watched the fruit rapidly vanishing before her eyes.

"Don't finish it!"

She snatched it from him and went to take a bite. A whistle sounded out from off in the distance, then moved closer as an arrow pierced the fruit and pinned it to a tree beside them.

Isatryn leapt to her feet and both of them scanned the forest, searching for their attacker. Another arrow zipped by Torin's face, this one from a different direction. He threw up a protective shield around the two of them and watched as arrows pelted it from all directions, rippling the air around them as they broke harmlessly against the bubble. The jungle was too thick to see their attackers, and the arrows seemed to come from behind every bush and tree.

"End this!" said Isatryn.

Torin balled up his fists and threw a blast of force outwards in all directions, flattening underbrush and shattering tree trunks with a blast that shook the landscape and cracked the walls of the shelter behind them. By the time the last tree toppled over, it looked as if the two of them were standing at ground zero of a bomb blast.

Fifty feet away from them, a figure rose from the flattened shrubbery and wobbled back and forth uneasily. Isatryn stormed over and lifted it up by its neck, and Torin followed as he scanned their surroundings for others. It was an alien, though not one he had ever seen. Humanoid, with cloudy yellow skin covered in simple woven clothes. Two eyestalks jutted out of the side of its oblong skull, one swiveling towards Torin while the other remained fixed on the woman who lifted him into the air. He gasped and clawed at his neck with a pair of four-fingered hands.

More aliens rose from the ground, digging themselves out from under trees and piles of leaves. Torin raised his hand to knock them flat to the ground, but stopped when he saw them drop their weapons. They rushed towards him and Isatryn and dropped to their knees, then pressed their faces to the ground in prostration. Torin shook Isatryn's shoulder and she let the alien in her grip drop to the ground. He quickly joined his comrades, all five of them bowing in a single row.

After a few moments the alien in the center raised his head.

"We will take you to the elder," he said. The words were spoken in strained croaks.

"Who are you?" Isatryn said.

The alien looked at her and exchanged silent glances with his comrades.

"We will take you to the elder," he said again. Torin got the impression that the words didnt mean anything to the alien—they were just sounds.

"I don't think they know more Basic than that," he said to Isatryn. He walked over to the alien that had spoken and pulled him to his feet. "Elder." Torin gestured forward with his hands, encouraging him onward. The alien turned and took a few steps away, followed by his comrades as they gave questioning glances back at Torin and Isatryn. He waved them onwards, and the group of aliens began leading them through the jungle. For hours they pressed onward through jungle brush, following the tireless aliens.

The arrows hadn't made a good first impression, but Torin was somewhat comforted by the fact that they were at least civilized enough to parlay—and that they had an 'Elder'. The aliens wore baggy, woven outfits—hardly more than rags—but they lived on this planet. If someone knew where an advanced settlement or unused starship lay, they would.

They came upon a sheer cliff of white rock that ran hundreds of feet above the jungle, then followed that for a time before slipping into a passageway that cut through the cliff—Torin would not have noticed it without their guides waving them in with them. Grass turned to sand, and they emerged from the fissure into an ocean-side cove of sandy beach. Stone huts filled the beach, nestled in between two cliffs that formed natural walls on either side of the settlement. Smoke floated up from the roofs of several of the structures, and more aliens emerged from cloth-covered doorways to greet the new arrivals.

"Please, just... take it easy," he said to Isatryn. "We'll find out if there are any working ships nearby."

She grunted and scanned the settlement, yanking her hand away as a child grabbed at it. A crowd was quickly forming, though they looked far more curious than hostile. The guides that had led them there were speaking to the crowd in animated tones, and another ran off towards a large, circular stone building at the center of the village. A short time later he emerged from the veiled doorway with another alien, this one wearing a robe and hunched over a wooden staff that he used to support his slow walk towards them. The crowd of aliens parted for him, bowing their heads reverently as he stopped in front of the new arrivals.

"You have come," he said. He spoke even more slowly than the other alien, though he seemed to understand his own words. Another alien tapped Torin on the shoulder and handed him a folded set of clothes—a sleeveless light-brown vest and pants, the same worn by many of the tribesmen around him.

"Ah... yes. We have come." Torin looked around the settlement, then back to the Elder. "Who are you?"

"We are Rakata." He gestured at the other aliens, keeping one hand on his staff. Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, Torin put on the clothes given to him and tucked his pants into his boots. Isatryn was handed a brown robe, which she pulled on before stripping off Torin's old clothes from under it.

"Please, follow me." The Elder turned and led them across the sand into the large, round building he had emerged from. A stone corridor ran around the interior, and the gray walls were covered in colorful, painted etchings that continued past where the hall curved on either side. The Elder led them to the left, then pointed at a mural on the outer wall, to the right of the doorway they had entered through.

It showed a space station, siphoning energy from a sun that shone down on a city. Two Rakata stood proudly on either side of it, wearing elegant robes.

"Long ago, we rule the stars. The Star Forge spreads our empire into the infinite—but there is a cost."

He led them to the next panel, tapping his staff on it. The city was in flames and the two Rakata met with clashed swords, their robes traded for heavy armor.

"The Star Forge corrupts our people, and they fall. Empire shatters, and brother fights brother."

In the next scene, the Star Forge had ceased drawing power from the star below it, and the city lay in ruins. The two Rakata were gone, and their swords lay beside the city.

"The Star Forge goes silent, as do our people—but neither our dead."

The two Rakata rose again to pick up their swords, wearing tattered rags as they fought over a tropical paradise instead of an urban marvel.

"Still our mistakes haunt us. The Star Forge corrupts one brother, and we fight." He tapped one of the Rakata with his stick. "Then, you come."

The old pattern of murals was followed by a figure, in black and red robes, wearing a metal mask and wielding two lightsabers—one red, one purple.

"You promise to end the Star Forge, and we help you—but you break your promise, and take its dark power for yourself."

The masked figure looked over the station, holding it between clasped hands. In the next panel, Rakatans once again fought each other.

"Then, you come back."

The next figure was wearing Jedi robes, and wielded a single purple lightsaber. The man had medium-length brown hair and fair skin—he looked like ten billion men the galaxy over. But to these aliens who had never seen a human before, Torin must have looked like the spitting image.

Beside the man was a woman, in a tight yellow bodysuit with brown leather shoulderpads and broad strips that hung from her waist. She held a double-sided yellow saber at her side.

"You are reborn—with a new life and name, but with the same face. You bring the woman with you, and you make your promise again—but this time, you keep it."

The Star Forge was shattered into pieces, and one of the Rakata lay dead at the other's feet. The two humans were gone, and their ship was etched into the sky above the jungle landscape.

"Our mistake is ended, and our people are free." The Elder turned to face them. "But we knew you would come again."

Torin eyed him cautiously. "You did?"

"The Elders have always known. Each generation we waited for you." The Rakata blinked rapidly, and Torin got the impression that this was a moment of intense emotion for the alien.

"I'm here because..." He stole a glance at Isatryn before looking back to the Elder. "I need your help—to leave this planet, and stop something worse than the Star Forge."

The Rakata's eyestalks shook up and down as he nodded furiously. He spun around and circled back through the hallway, leading them towards the building's entrance. This time he turned left, ducking through a covered doorway that led into the inner room. The circular space was lined with Rakatan statues, all holding staves in front of them that pointed from floor to ceiling. At the far end of the room was a stone slab held up by two kneeling statues, like an altar. The Elder approached the altar reverently and picked something up from it, then turned to reveal a brown wooden hilt in his palms. He knelt and held it high, waiting for Torin to take it from him.

"Is this a lightsaber?" He examined the hilt, feeling the fine wood grain and rough metal caps on each end. It looked to have been carved from the tropical trees covering the island, then outfitted with whatever technology the Rakata could scavenge from the remains of their civilization. "Does it work?" he said to the Elder.

"It will for you."

Torin swallowed and thumbed the switch on the side of the hilt. It could just as easily blow up in his face. Bracing himself and leaning away from it, he narrowed his eyes and pressed down.

Nothing.

He tried a few more times, and the Elder's expression grew grim.

"Hold on." Torin levitated the hilt into the air and spread his hands outwards, unscrewing the caps and removing each part from the interior of the weapon until its inner workings were spread out in series. With a few deft flicks of the hand he re-arranged power coils and re-aligned lenses, closing his eyes a few times to call to mind the first time he had constructed a working saber.

He opened his eyes and brought the entire assembly back together, then gave a swift press of the button. A purple blade of plasma shot from the hilt, sputtering and throwing off stray sparks—but it worked. The Elder shook in place and fell to his knees, then clasped his hands and chanted to himself in Rakatan.

Torin turned off the saber and hung it from his belt.

"The Elders before me reconstructed it as best they could, over generations." He rose and looked Torin in the eyes. "You are him."

Torin didnt say a word, and simply met the alien's gaze. More than fearing how the Rakata would react if he told them the truth, he didnt want to ruin what was undoubtedly the fulfilment of a lifetime of devotion for this alien.

The Rakatan bowed his head, then turned to Isatryn. "But this... she is not the woman."

Torin recalled the mural and its human woman—even to the Rakata, green flesh and a bald head was noticeably different to the fair skin and long brown hair they were expecting.

"You said I came here with the same face, right?" Torin said hurriedly. The Elder nodded. "You're right—she does have a different face, and that's why it took me so long to find her and bring her here. Because I forgot who she was." Torin glanced at the Falleen, who looked away from both men. "I'm hoping I can make it right."

The Elder hummed to himself thoughtfully, then took another saber from the altar and handed it to Isatryn.

She eyed it with disdain, then began pulling it apart and rearranging pieces as Torin had. Once it was reassembled she held it in front of her so that both ends ran parallel to the ground, and activated it. Yellow blades emerged from both ends, taking a moment to sputter to life before burning with uninterrupted brilliance.

"Thank you," Torin said. "This is an honor."

"This evil you are to stop... you told us of it before."

Torin lowered his saber, and Isatyn switched hers off. "I did?"

The Elder nodded. "You say it is waiting, out there in the darkness." He pointed a shaky finger upwards.

"Yes!" Torin said. "That's why I need a starship—to reach it." He held his hands out in front of him. "You see, a starship is—"

"I know what a starship is." He walked past them and waved them along, leaving the building and walking out towards the ocean. He stopped where the waves lapped at the shore and pointed off into the distance. Torin squinted and scanned the horizon until he saw the hazy sight of a rocky island jutting up from the ocean.

"We are not the only Rakata."

"They have a starship?"

"And more—but they will not help you." The Elder turned to him. "For generations they have remained on their island, hoarding the remains of our Empire and jealously guarding the secrets that could help our people." He gestured back at the simple village of stone huts. "Monsters of metal and light keep all outsiders from entering."

"Monsters of metal and light?" Isatryn said. "I do not fear a few ancient droids."

The Elder croaked Rakatan words out to two other aliens waiting off in the distance, who rushed over to the group. He led all four down the length of the beach until they reached a wooden jetty with posts dug into the sand, and a dock that extended outwards towards a waiting raft.

"Take the starship," the Elder said. "Make the island safe for us." The other two Rakata went to the raft and began unfurling the sail and undoing the rope securing it to the dock.

Isatryn walked to the ship without a word. Torin followed before stopping and turning back to the Elder.

"What was my name? When I came here the first time."

"Revan."

* * *

Back aboard her cruiser hovering above Rakata Prime, Vathamma stood in the communications room waiting for a call to connect. A holographic image flickered to life, and Darth Marr's masked visage hovered over the projector at the center of the round room.

"Darth Marr. I come with _grave _news."

"I've already received the footage of Darth Arkous' murder, and had it independently verified. It is genuine."

Vathamma held her hand out in front of her. "There was not a doubt in my mind. I knew Beniko was a snake the first time I laid eyes on her."

"That footage was only forwarded to you and the Dark Council. Why?" he asked.

"I think events made Arkous' reason clear," she responded, letting Marr mull over the implications for a moment. "He didn't know whom he could trust, even within his own sphere."

"And he trusted _you?"_

Vathamma knew that Marr was no idiot. He had seen that there was no love lost between her and Arkous.

"We may have butted heads now and then, but we both had the best interests of the Empire at heart. Who better to include in his dead man's switch than someone who has unequivocally proved their loyalty to the Empire?"

"Then that leaves the matter of the sphere of Military Offense. If it is as corrupt as Arkous' death would indicate, then promotion through the usual chain of command is... compromised."

"Yes!" She nodded eagerly. "In fact, I believe that is exactly what the traitors want—an opportunity to put more of their people in positions of power."

"What are you suggesting?"

"To put the Imperial Navy under the direct command of the only leader we can trust—you." Darth Marr sat back and pressed his hands together thoughtfully. "At least until this crisis is resolved, and we've rooted out the traitors."

"That is wise."

She remained silent for a moment, then spoke in measured tones. "I _would _like to request that a single battle group be placed under my direct command."

"An entire capital group?" Marr scoffed. "This is a counter-intelligence matter, not a fleet action."

Vathamma held her hands out cautiously. "Oh, no, my Lord. It is more than that."

She went to the terminal in front of the hologram and forwarded more data to Marr. "While investigating Beniko's presence on Rakata Prime, my agent—who _witnessed _Arkous' murder—recovered research being carried out by her confederates."

Marr turned away from his screen and examined what she had sent him.

"The raids on Tython and Korriban were coordinated, as I originally suspected. They were smokescreens to recover ancient artifacts from both locations. _Rakatan _artifacts. They planned to use the knowledge within to build an army enhanced by technology unimaginable.

"Where is this army?"

"Destroyed in its infancy," she replied quickly. "But that leads me to why I require a battle group at my disposal. After Arkous' murder, an unidentified fleet arrived and fired on the temple in order to cover their tracks."

"An entire _fleet?"_

"Indeed. They fled before I arrived, which was quite fortunate. My cruiser would have been woefully unprepared to engage them."

Marr exhaled a long, slow breath, filtered through his mask into a faint whistle.

"You will have your battle group."

Vathamma nodded slowly, struggling to keep her lips from turning upward into a giddy smile.

"One last matter, my Lord. I will need the data stolen from Tython during the raid that took place. I believe that will contain the key to whatever the traitors' plans may be."

"You will have that, too."

"Thank you, my Lord. I will not disappoint."

The call ended, and Vathamma let the projector grow dim before spinning in a circle, stomping her feet and grinning madly. No more crawling to the other spheres for military assets, or reporting to those who were beneath her. She now had a sizable fraction of the Imperial Armada at her disposal, and reported to the Dark Council itself. Not just the Dark Council, but Darth Marr—a man who might as well be called Emperor, given the true Emperor's extended seclusion.

She returned to her quarters and sat down at her desk, then took a bottle of alcohol and two glasses from the bottom drawer and poured the brown liquor into two of them before sitting back and looking around her empty office and bedroom. Leaning over the desk, she placed a call to the ship's command center.

"Send the Mandalorian to my quarters," she said.

"She left just over four hours ago, my Lady. We tried to notify you, but you were on the planet's surface. We had no reason to stop her—"

She waved a hand. "It's fine." Both sides were silent for a moment. "What's your name?"

"Technical Sergeant Mohan, ma'am," the man responded.

"Sergeant, come have a drink with me."

He was silent for a few moments, leaving only the crackle of the comm link.

"Is this a test, my Lady?"

She pursed her lips and ended the call, then fell back into her chair and took both glasses in her hands. After downing both and pouring a fresh one, she sat back and waited for the data she had requested to be forwarded to her from Marr's offices. The data files were massive, and filled with information of great interest to anyone who wished to do harm to the Jedi order.

Contained within were safe house locations, information on family members, records on operations carried out by the order, and everything else the Jedi had ever needed to keep track of. Much of it would already be obsolete—the safehouses in particular—but that wasn't of concern to her. She navigated through the files until she came to the personal records for the Order's members, and opened a file for one woman—Ziare.

Vathamma's eyes narrowed and lip curled as she eyed the woman's portrait, swishing her drink around as she scrolled through the file. The woman had been with the Jedi since early childhood, and by all accounts was an exemplary member of their Order. She yawned and kept reading, skimming the dossier until her eyes shot wide open and she jerked forward in her chair, dropping her drink to her desk.

"Shit!" She stood up and looked around for something to wipe up the spill, but quickly sat back down and leaned in towards her terminal to continue reading.

Her expression grew horrified and she sat back, holding her hand over her eyes and shaking her head.

* * *

Maliss sat in the pilot's seat of her vessel, feet propped up on the console in front of her as she stared out at the stars, the pinpoints of light rippling and swimming with her vision. She grunted and leaned forward, grabbing at the bottle on the dashboard, only to knock it to the ground with her fumbling.

With an annoyed grunt she sat back, sitting silently for a few moments before tilting her body to the side and grabbing her blaster from her holster. She placed it atop the console, staring at it for minutes on end before sitting upright in her chair, swinging her feet to the floor as she snatched the pistol up and pointed it at her temple.

Just as she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a finger down on the trigger, the console in front of her lit up. Her eyes shot open and she relaxed her trigger finger, letting out a slow breath as she accepted the incoming call. It was hard to make out the face displayed on the screen, and she had to lean in while she squinted to force her double-vision to line up. Gradually a woman came into view, with short brown hair, olive skin, and narrow eyes.

"Wow..." Maliss leaned back in her seat. "Ziare?" The woman smiled and nodded as Maliss wobbled from side to side. "You got _old."_

The woman frowned slightly. "It happens to the best of us."

"What's it been... a year? Two years?"

"Eight years," she replied.

Maliss shrugged. "One year, eight years..." She pointed the blaster at her head. "Either way, you're just in time to watch me blow my brains out."

"Wait!" Ziare exclaimed. "I'd like to speak with you—in person."

"Oh, _now _you want to talk." Ziare remained silent, and Maliss rolled the gun about in the air. "Look, I'm awfully busy. Got a _lot _of job offers. So unless you're paying—"

"I can pay you whatever you wish," said Ziare. "But you would not be holding a blaster to your head if credits were your only problem." Maliss frowned and lowered the pistol. "Come to these coordinates—let me see you. I have much to apologize for—"

Maliss rolled her eyes and muttered in agreement.

"—But I want to do it in person. I promise you will not regret this." Ziare searched the other woman's eyes for an answer, but Maliss retained her stone-faced expression. "I hope to see you."

The call ended, and Maliss fidgeted in her chair, fingering her blaster and staring at the console.

"Fuck!" she shouted, slamming a fist down on the screen and putting her blaster back in it's holster. She punched the coordinates into the navigational computer and turned the autopilot on, then leaned forward in her seat and rubbed her head as the ship entered hyperspace.


	13. The World Laughs With You

As the blue waters became a shade darker and choppier, lapping at the sides of their small sailboat, it occurred to Torin that this was his first time being out on the open ocean. Tinnel IV had no bodies of water large enough or salty enough to even call 'seas', and he felt it unfair to count his time in the floating cityscape of oceanic Manaan.

No matter how adeptly the two Rakata manning the raft tacked their sails, the wind seemed to fight them every step of the way, turning the journey into a frustrating exercise of one step forward, two steps back. In a flash of inspiration Torin began rhythmically throwing his open hands at the sail, propelling their raft forward with intermittent gusts of air. The exercise demanded more of his muscles than it did of the Force, and Isatryn silently refused to offer any help. The Rakata seemed to have no idea what he was doing at first, glancing back at him like he were a madman while they also tried to decipher the strange wind patterns propelling them towards the rocky island at breakneck speed.

Eventually they caught on, and suppressed their amazement to better manage the sails until the hewn logs flooring their raft touched down on sandy shoals. The stone cliffs of the island still lay a few hundred feet away, but the ship could take them no further in the shallow, sand-barred waters. Torin and Isatryn stepped from the raft, glancing back to see one of the Rakata pointing to the right around one of the curving white cliffs while speaking to them in his alien tongue.

"Right—got it." Torin gave them a thumbs-up, though the Rakata didnt acknowledge it—if he even grasped its meaning. The alien pair was already pushing off back into the ocean, sparing not one glance back at their passengers.

"Move," said Isatryn.

Torin spun about and began splashing through the shoals, making his way down the beach and towards the cliffside where they would hopefully find an entrance into the rock-ringed inland. After a minute of walking his mind cleared, and his walk slowed.

"You don't have to tell me to do what I was going to do anyway," he said to her.

She stomped through the waters behind him, her bare feet moving more easily in the squelching muck than Torin's soaked boots.

"Why would I risk it?"

"I—"

Unable to muster a convincing retort, he closed his mouth and turned around, frowning as they stepped onto dry land. They were close enough to the natural walls of sandstone to touch them, and they moved along until the cliff abruptly ended, yielding a view of a broad, sandy passage that cut inland, growing wider as it went. The interior of the island was covered in green grasslands dotted with palms, and rocky terraces that rose higher the closer to the center of the island they went. So far there was no sign of any Rakatan technology or starship—or that the island was inhabited at all.

They reached a dirt cliff a few dozen feet high, vines hanging low—but not low enough to grab onto.

"Find a way—" Isatryn started.

Before she could finish, Torin lowered a hand down to the ground and then sprung upward from his crouch, throwing her upwards with the Force. She gasped and scrambled in mid-air, disappearing from view as she crested the top of the overhang. A moment later her head reappeared, a scowl visible even with the distance between them. Her mouth moved, though he couldn't hear a word she said.

"What?" he shouted upward.

A pressure appeared on his ankle and then yanked him up, his world turning upside down as he was pulled up the length of the cliff by his foot. With an unceremonious twirl of limbs he fell face-first into grass, groaning as he staggered to his feet.

Isatryn stood glaring at him with her hand poised at the lightsaber hanging from her waist. She opened her mouth to say whatever he had missed before, but stopped and snapped her head away from the direction of the cliff. A moment later, Torin heard what had drawn her attention. A mechanical whirr, like a cruiser far off in the distance. A small object flew out from behind a rocky outcropping further inland, the noise growing louder as it flew closer. The spherical droid came to an abrupt stop above them, then turned its blue eye downward and spoke a short phrase in some alien language.

"What the _hell _is that?" Isatryn said.

The eye snapped towards her, and it spoke again.

"Turn back now, or be fired upon."

The pre-recorded phrase crackled as it was blared forth through speakers covering the droid. Torin reached out and pulled on the droid with the Force, yanking it from the air and grabbing it with both hands. The glowing eye blinked with mechanical shutters as he turned it about in his hands.

"This isn't _Rakatan," _he said. "It's standard Republic tech!" He pointed at a serial number written in Basic on a metal panel.

As Isatryn leaned over it the droid flared its single repulsor jet, flying out of Torin's grip and nearly pulling him over the edge of the cliff before he let go. The droid zipped off into the distance, tracing a path across the island.

"This is good!" He said to Isatryn. "If they're considerate enough to give us a warning, maybe we can negotiate with them."

She narrowed her eyes. "I do not _need_ to negotiate." She switched on her lightsaber and took off running towards the center of the island where the droid had originated. Torin followed, wading through knee-deep grass as the pair cut through increasingly dense tropical foliage. The further into the island they went, the rockier it became.

Torin's foot pressed down on something flat and hard, and he turned around to see a crumpled metal sheet flat on the ground. Circling back, he crouched down to brush away the weeds that had grown over it. It was a sign with a dozen different languages, though he could only read the Basic: _Warning._

Pictured below was a simple—but very clear—depiction of a four-legged droid shooting at a hapless bipedal figure. Below _that _were skulls and skeletons of varying shapes, all conveying a very simple warning.

"Wait!" he shouted forward at Isatryn, but she had already disappeared from sight. He took off running after her, and a short time later emerged from dense forest to come face-to-face with the technology the Rakata had spoken of. He stood at the edge of a huge oasis, the shallow lake at the center protected on three sides by steep cliffs with the forest to his rear walling off the rest.

A rusted cargo ship sat at the center of the lake, the bays on its sides and back open to the air and its landing struts supported by the rocky ground below the water. All around the lake, farms and four-wall prefab shelters ran from shoreline to cliffside, creating a settlement that would not have looked out of place on a Republic colony world—except that there was not a soul in sight. Hovering worker droids manned the fields and maintained the shelters, creating a fully-automated operation that sowed seeds and stacked metal crates full of produce beside the shelters.

Isatryn stood near the edge of the lake, staring at the ship. As he drew nearer, she looked from left to right at the unused homes on either side of the lake.

"Why is it empty?" she said

"That ship is from the Republic—they send them out to pre-colonize empty worlds. Once the settlers arrive, they trigger the return protocol and send it back. Apparently, they never arrived—or left as soon as they discovered it was full of spear-chucking Rakatans."

"So _where _are these supposed Rakatans?"

"My guess?" He pointed at a field of well-nourished crops off in the distance, and the robots that maintained them. "They probably ignored the warnings like you did, and got slaughtered by whatever defenses used to be here. There never were any island Rakatans—at least not for more than a few hours."

She was silent for a moment, then cracked a smile and began to laugh.

"I didnt think it was that funny," he said.

She held a hand over her eyes and continued her harsh cackle. "It's so stupid."

Her laughter was cut short by an explosion of light and sound that threw sand up into the air, forcing Torin to block his eyes. As he lowered his arm and opened his eyes, he saw the Falleen sprawled out on her back in front of him, eyes wide and chest moving rapidly as blue blood spilled from wounds that ran from her neck to her legs. His mouth fell open in shock, but he kept enough of his wits about him to throw up a protective barrier, shielding the both of them just in time to block the second volley of blaster fire. He scanned the settlement, but saw nothing until a tumble of rocks falling from the cliffs around the lake drew his attention upward. A four-legged spider droid, three times the height of a man and with far more firepower, clambered down the vertical surface with spiked feet that clung to the rock. With a grinding mechanical whirr it charged at Torin, charging up another round in the blasters set into each of its metal knees.

He drew his lightsaber and ignited it at his side, leaving the barrier weakened enough that the next assault broke it, releasing a gust of air that tossed water and sand away from either side of him. As the droid neared he reached out and wrenched one of the spindly legs loose, throwing it behind him as the robot continued teetering forward on three legs. It fired a round of green plasma at him and he deflected it, then yanked loose another leg from the same side. The droid fell onto its side twenty feet in front of him, still dragging itself through the sand on two legs like a crippled insect.

As he walked towards it, the two remaining knee-top blasters fired and he deflected the blast into the droid's main body, knocking loose plating and exposing the machine's wired innards. The next two legs came loose just as easily, making the droid spin about in the sand like a top as he pulled it apart. The thing was defenceless now, a cylindrical body without limbs. He thrust his saber into the exposed core, drawing a death rattle from the droid's voice box as the lights on its body went dim.

Torin stowed his lightsaber and stood there for a moment before look back in realization and running over to Isatryn. Her eyes were open, but her breathing was labored and her feet slid up and down in the sand in an instinctive effort to get away from whatever had felled her.

He knelt beside her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Can you hear me?" he shouted down. Her eyes rolled back, unable to focus on his face. "Hold on! I'll—"

He ran his hands over her body, lifting up her dress to try and find her blaster wounds. They were everywhere—he had no idea where to even start. Blood spilled out from a charred hole on the front of her neck, and her pained breaths became wetter before turning to silent chokes. Her chest still moved, but no air was passing through her throat. He pressed his hands to her neck in an effort to stop the bleeding, but it was pointless—even if he could stop her from bleeding out, she couldn't breathe.

"Stay with me!" Her eyes fluttered closed, and her body went limp in his arms. "Isatryn!"

As the last rigidness and life left her slack muscles, tears streamed from his eyes as he shook her. "Wake up!"

Silence.

He slowly set her down and leaned over her face, holding her cheeks in both hands as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I brought you here to help you. I thought I could help—" A choked sob broke his words. "I'm sorry."

For a time he remained like that, feeling the lingering warmth of her body beneath him, as if he could keep her soul from moving on by holding her closely enough. He let out a ragged sigh, then opened his eyes, and was met with Isatryn's own green eyes half-open, staring back at him.

Her eyes shot wide open and she drew a sharp gasp of breath inward, her chest heaving and back arching as she shot upright. Torin fell back into the dirt, staring in shock at the woman who, a moment ago, had been knocking on death's door. She pushed herself to her feet and looked around, feeling at her bloodied throat and swallowing repeatedly.

"Are you—" He cut his words short as he stood up, unable to find the words to express his disbelief. She _looked _alright, but how could she be?

"What did you do?" she said.

As she spoke his mouth fell open, as did hers. The words were not the strained wheeze she had spoken with before. They were clear, deep, and full-throated, like the voice of a singer. Her hand slid away from her throat, and he saw that the wound was gone—as was her old scar.

"My voice..." Her expression turned from confusion to anger, and she grabbed him by the collar. "What did you do?"

"I don't know." Looking around, he saw that the settlement was just as full of life as ever—not a single plant had been sapped of its energy.

* * *

_**Two years ago...**_

"Is it everything you imagined?" said Ziare to her companion—a man in a thick wool parka, with a lightsaber slapping against his thigh as he marched beside her.

Colab glanced to her as they trod through ice and snow, dragging their feet through snowdrifts on their way to the stone tower jutting out of the tundra.

"I've never liked the cold."

"Yet you insisted on coming anyway." Ziare kept her tone somewhere between accusation and curiosity.

"No," Colab corrected her. "The _council _insisted. It is dangerous to come to worlds like this alone. What if your shuttle were disabled and communicator lost?"

Ziare raised an eyebrow at him. "How would you being here help me in such an event?" He opened his mouth to speak, but simply frowned and turned his eyes to the ground to watch the depressingly slow progress his feet made pushing through the snow. "Besides, I do not expect to run into any danger on an archaeological mission."

"Archaeology?" Colab looked up at the tower. "I did not think we were doing any digging."

"I should hope not." She followed his eyes towards the stone structure he was staring at. "A hermit lived his entire life in that tower. A Cerean—a near-human race with dual brains. He spent his time contemplating suffering, and is rumored to have built a holocron to aid him in his pursuit."

"A life spent contemplating suffering?" The man wrinkled his brow. "Sounds miserable."

"If we are to right wrongs as Jedi, sacrifices must be made."

"Maybe. I would rather just go right wrongs." Colab looked back at the ground. "You would not have to suffer my presence if you had a Padawan to accompany you. What has it been, eight years? Yet still you—"

As he spoke his gaze turned upwards, and he cut his words short as he saw Ziare standing directly in front of him with a furious scowl cracking her usual calm facade. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward, making him stumble a few steps through the snow.

"Do _not _speak of that."

Colab's eyes flickered across her face in surprise. "I did not mean any offense!"

Her anger died down with the winds circling them, and her hand relaxed as her lips eased into a smile.

"Of course, of course!" She patted him on the arms with both hands, smoothing out his coat. "I'm sorry, its this weather. I can't stand the cold, either." She turned away and continued on their course, and Colab breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he saw her back. He had learned an invaluable lesson on which subjects not to broach with the Jedi Master.

They continued the walk in silence, both Jedi moving forward slowly until Ziare came to a halt in front of Colab. The tundra dropped off without warning—they would have walked straight into the precipice in front of them, had they not seen it from the air when descending in their shuttle. A vast abyss ringed the tower, a moat without water or bottom. Between the two Jedi and the tower lay no fewer than twenty immense, flat boulders, suspended in mid-air across the space like stepping stones in a stream.

Ziare turned to Colab. "A bridge."

"A generous term." His lips wrinkled in distaste, and she could see the wheels in his mind already turning as he deduced another way across the gulf besides the obvious.

As he looked off to the side she took a running start towards the edge, leaping off and flying through the air before landing on the first of the stones. No sooner had her foot touched the icy stone than it began spinning in mid-air, as if the whole thing were pivoting on a spindle. Ziare leapt to the next stone, then pushed off of that one when she found no surer footing. She jumped from stone to stone, moving across the open space as Colab watched in visceral terror. At last she landed on the far island in front of the tower's doorway, leaving two dozen slowly-spinning stones behind her.

"Are you mad?" her companion shouted across the gorge. She shrugged and waved him over with a smile. He bit his lip and looked left and right, then cupped his hands to yell out to her. "I'll find another way around."

Ziare watched as he circled around the outer edge of the crevice, then turned away and ascended the stone steps leading into the tower. The ground floor was barren, the only decorations being whatever ice managed to thaw enough to form nests of icicles that hung from every doorway and corner. A passage on the left of the room led to a spiral stairwell that circled the exterior of the tower, marked with enough windows for Ziare to once again feel as if she were out in the open air with its winds and snow. It was worse, in fact—whatever hills had softened up the wind down below were gone, leaving her to be blasted by the chill cutting through the tower in gusts and bursts.

There were no doorways leading into the tower from the stairwell, save the one she had entered through. Indeed, it seemed the tower was simply solid stone. At last she reached the top, stepping up from the stairs into a square space ringed by pillars and covered by a rough wooden roof. Ice and wind had done its work on the ill-suited roofing, leaving patches through which snow fell onto the floor below. In the center of the room—if she could call it that, without so much as a single wall—was a stone pedestal set upon the stone slabbed floor. A wood cover lay over the top of it, and Ziare pried it off with her fingertips to reveal the space inside.

Lying within was a holocron. A square device, with dull blue fiberglass sides and silvered edges—the hermit's legacy. She reached in and grasped it lightly in between her palms, sliding it from the stone pedestal while being careful not to scrape it against the sides.

As she brought it in front of her face she ran her hands over it, searching for a means of activation.

The moment Ziare's fingertips touched opposing sides of the holocron, her mind was ripped open and a torrent of thought was forced in. She was the shellshocked soldier, the starving child, the shackled slave, the leprous beggar. Sights, sounds, smells, sensations—it was too much, too fast. Her body quaked and tears rolled down her cheeks, but she could not stop watching. War, famine, tyranny, cruelty—and at the center of it all, the Force, weaving its way through the tapestry of history and altering events with an unseen hand.

The lights on the holocron flickered and died, and Ziare let it fall from her hands before pressing her palms to the sides of her head.

"Ah..." she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and massaging her temples. She stumbled across the stone floor, her shoulder striking a pillar before she righted herself. Her lip twitched upward, and a brief snicker escaped her mouth before her pained moans resumed. Then, another twitch, twisting her lips into a half-smile even as tears continued to well from her closed eyes.

"Pffft!" A short burst of air escaped her pursed lips, and she could not hold back anymore. Her mouth spread open into a mad grin and a low rattle rose from her throat, rising in pitch and speed until it turned into a sharp cackle that rung the ice around her like a bell. Her face shot up towards the ceiling and her bloodshot eyes snapped wide open, pupils shrunk to pinpoints. Fingers wound up in her hair as a strained breath inward interrupted her cackling, then came back as a shrieking laugh.

* * *

Two years later, Maliss stood on the same precipice Ziare had once faced. She looked over the floating bridge of stepping stones, then up to the ice-crested tower looming above the pit like a lighthouse in a sea of frozen mist. Her eyes traveled down, to an icy abyss without end. She took a few steps back, then ran to the edge of the crevice and leapt off, flaring her jetpack at the same moment her back foot left solid ground.

The crack of ice rang out as she sailed over the stones, the heat from her rockets melting the snow that had settled on top of them. After a few seconds of thrust she relaxed her gauntlet, letting the rockets die and sailing forward and down until her boots crunched on snow-covered stone. She walked up the steps in front of her and entered the tower, ascending a spiral staircase circling the exterior until she came to a room at the top of the structure. Ziare was standing in the open space, buffeted by wind and sparse snow, her loose tunic fluttering against her body.

"You came." She smiled at Maliss and clasped her hands in front of her. "I knew you would."

"I wasn't so sure." With a hiss of air escaping her armor, Maliss removed her helmet and held it under her arm. "Quite a ways to call me for a little chat." She scanned the tundra around them as she walked towards Ziare.

"I need your help."

Maliss let out a sharp laugh and milled about the space, looking at the ground below.

"Twenty years ago you fuck my brother and disappear because you can't even look me in the eye. _Ten _years ago you decide being a Jedi and a human being is just too much at once." She stepped away from the edge and turned to Ziare. "Why would I _ever _help you?"

"Because I can give you what you want."

Maliss cracked an amused smile. "Oh yeah? What's that."

"A good death."

Maliss' smile vanished, and she looked off to the side, squinting as wind and snow blew past her. "That's why I joined the Imperial navy, you know." Maliss dropped her helmet to the ground and reached over to her left side, taking a bladeless sword hilt in her right hand. "I had this fantasy that we'd meet on the battlefield, and I'd kill you or you'd kill me." She activated the weapon and a shimmering energy blade of midnight black extended from the hilt. "Better late than never."

She lunged at Ziare, blade held over her head and arms tensed. As she brought it down a green lightsaber appeared in front of the Jedi—Maliss hadn't even seen her take it in hand. Her own saber hit one end of the double-bladed saber and slid off to the side, striking stone and sending up sparks and snow as Maliss stumbled forward, then spun about as she struggled to right her footing and once again bring the blade to bear. With her grip already loosened from the failed strike, she felt the hilt slip from her hands as Ziare yanked the blade from her grip and tossed it upwards. The blackened blade embedded itself in the wooden ceiling, shaking snow loose from the patchwork roof and leaving the Mandalorian weaponless.

As she stared at her empty hands a blow struck her in her armored chest—not enough to hurt, but enough to send her sliding back on the snow-slick stone. As the heels of her boots left the ground, Ziare shot forward and grabbed the piping on Maliss' chest with one hand, keeping the Mandalorian from falling over the edge. Maliss turned her head to the side, looking down the length of the tower into the misty pit below.

"I did not call you here to kill you," said Ziare. Maliss turned her gaze back forward while she wobbled awkwardly on the stone edge. "I called you here to give you a second chance."

Maliss' lip quivered, until she could contain herself no more. A raucous laugh escaped her mouth, drowning out the howl of wind.

"You can take the easy way out, and I can make this frozen world your tomb." Ziare lowered the woman slightly, making her point felt. "Or you can follow me to a triumph beyond compare—one worthy of a Mandalorian."

Off in the distance, a shuttle flew low over the tundra. Both women watched as it folded up its wings, then set down a half-mile from the tower. Ziare tugged on Maliss' armor, drawing her attention back forward.

"Time to choose."


	14. A Woman Of Wealth And Taste

"What are we doing here?" Nomi stared out the shuttle window at the snowy tundra they had just set down on. A stone tower lay off in the distance, the sole landmark in a field of endless white. "We should be going to Republic Intelligence!"

The Jedi Master and Padawan she had been travelling with walked past her from the cockpit and waited in front of the ramp as it lowered.

"It couldn't be helped," said the Master. "We've tracked someone here—someone who needs to be taken into custody."

_"Here?" _Nomi exclaimed as the human and Twi'lek walked out into the waiting snowstorm. It wasn't long before even the woman's dark, bald head disappeared from view, blocked out by the flurry racing across every inch of the snowy wastes.

The Twi'lek Padawan gave one last look back at the shuttle and its welcoming warmth before turning to his Master.

"You are sure she's here?"

The woman nodded, then squinted up at the tower looming ahead of them.

"It is becoming difficult for her to hide her presence."

They came upon a bottomless moat surrounding the tower, and both Jedi leapt across the pathway of stones, finding the hovering pathway as solid as the ground they had just left.

The two Jedi reached the other side, and walked towards the tower entryway before the Master held out a hand, stopping her Padawan in his tracks. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light at the base of the tower he saw, standing inside, a human woman with hands held behind her back.

"Master Ziare!" shouted his own Master. "You will come with us."

"Why would I do that?"

The Padawan stepped forward. "You need help!"

Ziare pointed a single finger at them. "_You _are the ones who need help."

A whistle sounded out above the roar of wind, and the Master shoved her Apprentice to the side, throwing him away from the doorway. A thunderous crash followed, shaking the ground and sending freshly-fallen snow back up into the air. Acting on instinct, the Padawan drew his lightsaber and waved it in front of him, unsure of what exactly he was trying to block in the flurry of snow. A black blade cut through the mist, slamming into his own as the snow parted and revealing an armored figure that towered over him. The helmet was recognizable as Mandalorian, but that was all his mind could process before the blade bore down on him again, slamming into his saber and forcing it downward. It cut through the side of his arm, snapping his armband and searing his flesh. His grip on the saber loosened, and he could barely manage to keep his fingers wrapped around the hilt.

The Mandalorian raised her sword to deliver the killing blow, but stopped and spun about as another lightsaber cut through the air to her rear. The Twi'lek's Master engaged the Mandalorian, trading blow after blow as her Padawan struggled to his feet. He took a weak swing at his enemy's turned back, but the Mandalorian battered his blade away before moving in a clean, continuous arc that brought her blade back around to meet his Master's. With Ziare still watching placidly from the tower doorway, the Jedi had the advantage of numbers, but the Mandalorian was faster, more brutal—and a better fighter.

In desperation the Jedi Master reached out and lifted her enemy into the air by his neck, doing her best to constrict the soft windpipe that lay under the hard shell.

"Now!" she shouted at her Padawan.

As the Twi'lek charged with lightsaber raised, the Mandalorian pressed a gloved finger to her wrist and vented the heat on her suit, spraying the snow and ice around them with superheated air. Hot steam billowed upwards, scalding the two Jedi and forcing them to shield their eyes. Blinking madly to try and clear his vision, the Padawan ground to a sudden halt as he nearly ran his Master through—the Mandalorian was gone.

His Master lurched forward, her face moving right in front of his as her eyes shot wide and mouth fell open. A red blotch appeared on the front of her robe and grew wider as a blade slid out of her chest.

"Master!"

The blade withdrew and she was yanked backwards, disappearing through the cloud of steam. He chased after her, but was met with a tremendous blow to the head that shook his skull and had his vision swimming. Gloved hands wrapped around his wrists, holding him still with an unbelievable strength as a masked head shot forward through the haze, slamming into his own. His ears rang, then even that singular noise stopped as the Mandalorian headbutted him again. Blood was everywhere—in his mouth, in his nose, and trickling into his eyes. The hands around his wrists squeezed and twisted, snapping delicate tendons and forcing him to drop his lightsaber into the snow. Blow after blow rattled his brain until all-encompassing pain was the only thing keeping him conscious.

The steam cleared, and the Mandalorian threw her head back before taking a look at the bloodied Twi'lek in her grip, then dropped his limp body to her feet. Behind her, the Jedi Master was crawling towards her Padawan, leaving a trail of blood across the wet stone. Maliss stomped towards her and yanked her to her knees, angling her towards the tower as Ziare emerged from the doorway. The injured woman tried to speak, but only blood left her mouth, staining her robe further.

"Sshh..." Ziare stopped in front of her and pressed her hands to either side of her head. "This is not death—this is a new beginning."

Amber wisps of energy floated up from every inch of the kneeling Jedi and snaked their way through the air towards Ziare. The Jedi Master's flesh hardened and cracked, her cheeks collapsing inward and skin turning an ashen grey. Maliss yanked her hands away and stepped backwards, watching until Ziare released her hold on what had become a mummified corpse. The woman's dessicated body smacked into the stone, her mouth stretched open in a silent scream and arms contorted unnaturally.

"What did you _do?" _said Maliss.

Ziare smiled and took a deep breath inward, then opened her eyes and turned to Maliss. She opened her mouth to speak, but looked past the Mandalorian and pointed.

"Stop him."

Maliss turned around to see the Padawan hopping across the pathway of floating stones, clutching his wounded left arm and running with a limping gait. She ran to the edge of the center island and followed him across the stones with short flares of her jetpack, moving at a leisurely pace until she reached the other side of the gorge.

As he pushed through the ankle-deep snow in a state of near-collapse, Maliss caught up to him and drew her sword, delivering a slash across his leg and severing a hamstring. He screamed and took one more shaking step before falling face-first into the snow.

Maliss stopped next to him and looked back at Ziare, who was jumping across the stones on her way to the fallen Padawan. The Mandalorian raised her sword and drove it down, plunging it through the Twi'lek's chest. With one last tremble and a death rattle muffled by the packed snow, he went still.

"Why did you kill him?" shouted Ziare.

"Sorry." Maliss deactivated her saber as the other woman neared. "Force of habit."

Ziare's lip curled as she stared down at the Padawan's quickly-cooling body, but her attention was soon drawn away once again.

Maliss followed her gaze and spotted, far off into the hilly tundra, an alien figure racing off in the direction of the shuttle they had earlier watched land. Ziare reached out with both hands and the alien fell into the snow, then was pulled towards her at a startling speed.

As the figure drew closer her startled shouts became clearer, and Maliss could just barely make out a pair of blue-and-white horns atop a red head tumbling through the snow. The bundled-up figure came to an unceremonious halt a dozen feet from Ziare, and the Jedi lifted her up into the air by one arm. She walked closer to inspect her catch, and her eyes fell on the uniform peaking out of a thick overcoat.

"An Imperial?" said Ziare. Nomi looked in fear from Ziare to Maliss. With the Mandalorian still wearing her helmet, Nomi had not yet recognized her. "What were you doing with those Jedi?"

The Togruta remained silent, though that seemed to be more from abject fear than any show of stoic resistance.

"Show me."

Ziare let the woman drop to the ground, then grabbed her head and closed her eyes. Nomi's own eyes shot wide open, her jaw clenching tight and body freezing. After a moment the Jedi's eyes snapped open, and she stumbled back through the snow before steadying herself.

"Torin!" she exclaimed. Maliss' heart stopped at the mention of his name. "You know him!" She knelt down in front of the recovering Togruta and grabbed her shoulders. "You can help me get him back!"

Eyes half-open as if she were nursing the galaxy's worst hangover, Nomi sneered at the woman.

"What is he to you?"

Ziare put a hand on her chest. "He is everything to me."

Nomi looked in horror at the dead Padawan who lay half-covered by falling snow. "I do not know who you are, but I will not help you."

Ziare frowned and grabbed the Togruta's head. "You _will _help me. One way or the other, you will. Sleep."

Nomi's eyes fluttered downward, and Ziare lay her gently down in the snow. The Jedi rose and turned to Maliss, then pointed at the Togruta. "Carry her, please."

Maliss slid her arms under Nomi and hefted her limp body upward, then began to follow Ziare through the tundra.

"Torin?" said Maliss. "You said his name was 'Torin'?"

"Yes."

"And you were... training him? On Tython?"

Ziare stopped cold in her tracks. "How do you know of Tython?"

As she turned back to face Maliss, the Mandalorian's heart was racing fast enough she was sure the Jedi could hear it through her armor.

"I worked out of the Intelligence compound on Dromund Kaas for weeks." She swallowed, momentarily turning off her respirator to steady her voice without making it obvious. "Word gets around."

Ziare eyed her suspiciously, then finally turned around and kept walking. Maliss let out a relieved sigh that only she could hear, and followed with Nomi slung over her shoulder.

"You will meet him soon," said Ziare. "I'm sure of it."

Maliss' stomach lurched as she was dragged back into a discussion she wanted to abandon. She forced a short laugh and steadied her voice.

"I don't want to meet your Padawan."

"You should." Ziare turned her head back towards Maliss as they walked. "He's your nephew."

* * *

Torin fell backwards, butt smacking down into the sand.

"What is wrong with you?" said Isatryn.

He wobbled uneasily from side to side. "I'm tired—really tired." His limbs might as well have been made of stone, for all the movement he was able to get out of them. Every last bit of energy he'd had seemed to have gone to the freshly-healed woman standing before him.

"Get up."

He pushed himself up, but quickly careened sideways and fell back to the ground.

"Fine, then. Spend the night out here."

She left for one of the shelters, and he let his aching body go limp as he stared up at the sky. The sun was lower now, low enough that he could watch the sky darken and the stars brighten as day gave way to dusk. Even after hours passed he couldn't work up the will to drag himself to shelter, so total was his exhaustion. Night fell and the island was wrapped in total silence as the cries of the tropical birds ceased—he hadn't even noticed their presence until they stopped their endless crowing.

Just when his eyelids became as heavy as the rest of his body, he was lifted into the air by his legs and back, then swung around and moved towards one of the homes. Looking around, he saw Isatryn walking behind him, her palms facing upward as she carried him. With some unceremonious bumping of head and feet against the sides of a doorway he was shoved inside, then dumped onto a bed at the center of the small room. As soon as his head hit the covers he wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep, but the Falleen's continuing presence grew until it became distracting enough that he forced himself to look over at her.

"Why did you do this?" she pointed at her scar-less throat, her face twisted in frustrated confusion.

He let his head drop back down to the bed. "It just happened."

She huffed in annoyance and stomped a bare foot on the metal floor. "Do you think I owe you now?"

His eyes rolled behind closed eyelids. "No, but if you want to say 'thanks,' I won't stop you."

She remained silent for a time, then walked out and slammed the door behind her. Even that sudden jolt wasn't enough to keep him from sleep for long.

Come morning, he felt renewed. His muscles still ached and a fog hung over his mind, but it was the sort of exhaustion he could be confident he would recover from—and be better off for. Isatryn was nowhere to be seen around the lake, and he checked shelter after shelter until he found her.

She lay atop a bed just like his own, only a fraction of her nude form covered by the blankets half-thrown to the floor. She looked to be fast asleep, and he found himself staring at her as he stood in the doorway, heart pounding and thoughts going a mile a minute.

Her eyes snapped open and shot to his, freezing him in place. He started to speak, then decided it was better to simply leave.

"Come in—and close the door." He obeyed, letting the metal door clatter shut behind him. She sat upright, letting the covers fall away from her chest as she looked him up and down with a sort of detached interest.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Unable to do anything but tell the truth, he responded quickly: "Yes." Despite her dirt-caked feet and violent demeanor, she was as beautiful as any of the Falleen women he had seen. With Isatryn no longer a threat to his life, he could no longer ignore her other aspects.

She beckoned him forward with a finger. "Come here."

He stepped closer, then crawled onto the bed. She lowered herself onto her elbows, and he looked down at her face as his mind struggled to make sense of his own actions.

"I don't want to owe you," she said. "After this, _you _will owe _me."_

"Hold on. I don't know if I—" He swallowed and tried to push away, but his arms wouldn't allow him to do so. "You don't want to do this."

"Don't tell me what I want." She reached between them and gripped his crotch, rubbing up and down as she stared into his eyes. "Tell me what _you _want."

"I want to go home."

Her eyes went wide with surprise, which soon gave way to confusion. "What?"

They both remained silent for a time, until finally Torin regained enough control of his own body to crawl off of her and sit on the edge of the bed.

"I'm going to stop Ziare—but after that, I'm done. I'm going home."

"Which is where?"

"Tinnel IV."

"I've never heard of it."

He smiled. "That's not surprising. It's nothing—and I was a nobody. That's fine, though. I want to see my farm again. I want to go a whole day without worrying about whether I'll live to see tomorrow. I want to meet a woman who doesn't know what I've done."

He glanced back at her. "I want my worst enemy to be a neighbor who siphons my water—not power-mad monsters who want to devour the Force." The bed creaked as he pushed down on it and leaned forward. "I'm tired."

"You would go _home?" _Isatryn shot up from the bed and marched in front of him. "You would resign yourself to a life of obscurity on some backwater world?"

He smiled meekly. "It's comfortable there."

"Pathetic."

She marched over to a dresser and got dressed in a set of simple clothes that had been installed along with the rest of the settlement, then swung open the door of the shack and stepped outside.

"Come."

He rose from the bed. "What are we doing?"

"We're leaving." She walked towards the lake and its derelict ship. "You can go back to your hovel of a planet. I will maintain the path I have set for myself."

They went to the ship and began their repairs—though Torin was the only one to do any of the finer work. Isatryn limited herself to lifting up the ship or tearing off rusted panelling, while he took what limited mechanical knowledge he had and applied it to starship repair. It wasn't easy, but they had the materials, and they had the time. The ship itself had been stocked with enough spare parts to rebuild the entire interior if he so desired, and the rest he scavenged from the settlement, using his lightsaber to weld plasteel housing onto the hull until the ship was a grey-and-brown patchwork of old and new.

Time passed in a blur of hard days and quiet nights. The evenings he occupied with intrusions he forced on Isatryn, amusing himself by recounting stories of his homeworld until she forced him out of her shelter. Each time she listened a little longer, reluctantly allowing him to regale her with tales as dull as they were meandering. He had other stories he could have told her—his time with the Sith, slave, and Mandalorian—but his time with them had already begun to feel like a dream. The further back in his mind he allowed those memories to slip, the easier it would be for him to forget that they had ever happened at all, and the easier it would be for him to return to a normal life.

After a week, the day came when their work on the ship was done. Torin gave the craft three lengthy inspections, more out of disbelief that his work was finally done than any sort of real thoroughness.

The pair gathered all the supplies they could fit aboard—clothes, fresh food, a few droids for good measure—then sealed up the ship and took their seats in the cockpit. Although he had been on the island only a week, he felt as if he was leaving home—but it was not home. It was comfort. He had things he needed to do before he saw his true home again.

"What are you going to do?" said Isatryn, propping her muddied feet up on the console before her.

He paused for a moment before realizing what she meant. "I told you. I'm going to stop her."

She let out a _hmph _of amusement. "'Stop' her—how gentle. You speak as if she is still not your enemy."

"Everyone deserves a second chance." Torin looked over at Isatryn, and she gave him a frustrated look before swinging her feet onto the floor.

"You should be careful who you try to save," she said with a smile. "Once I'm free of this planet, maybe I'll celebrate by telling a family to go jump off a skybridge."

"No, you won't."

"You're so sure?"

"You saved Ayahe's life in that cave." Isatryn's mischievous grin turned into a frown, and she sat back in her chair. "I could have killed you, for all you knew." Her upper lip twitched and face blushed red, and he looked forward to the cockpit window. "I won't ask what made you do it. I just hope you'll do something like that again."

"And if you can't make her change her mind?" Isatryn leaning over her chair armrest, eyes narrowed at him. "Are you prepared to kill her? Will you drive your lightsaber through your precious Master's heart?"

"I don't know." It wasn't something he had let himself think about.

"Then _I _will do it."

He looked at her surprise. "What do you mean?"

"If she will not be swayed by you, then I will separate her head from her neck."

"Are you saying you'll come with me?"

She sneered at him. "You need my help."

"No, I don't," he replied. Her confident expression softened at the brusk reply. "But I'd like to have it."

"Fine."

She sat back in her chair, and he suppressed an amused smile.

"Ok, then."

He punched a course in on the navigational computer—one he already knew well.

"Where are you taking us?" She leaned over her armrest to look at the computer, then frowned. "No."

Torin held up a hand to calm her. "I have _one _lead on finding Ziare and the people she's working with."

"What good will your 'lead' be if we are captured?" she exclaimed, lowering her volume once she realized how loud she had become with her renewed voice. "We will not even be allowed to _land _on Tython." She gestured at the ancient ship around them. "Do you expect _this _to slip past their defenses?"

"Not on our own, no." Torin started the ship's thrusters and lifted them off of the lake bed, the ship whining in protest at being forced to move after untold centuries of rest. As the island beneath them became a distant moat in a sea of blue, he leaned in towards Isatryn and flashed her a smile she found far more obnoxious than reassuring.

"Luckily, I have an inside man."

* * *

Korriban had changed much since Vathamma had first stepped foot on the planet. She was too old to have gone through the Sith academy located there, but she had visited the ancestral home of her species not long after the first Galactic War. Back then it had been a tomb world, of no interest to anyone but archaeologists and contemplatives. Now it housed the Sith Academy, the entire planet serving as a proving ground for the Empire's force-sensitive elite.

Vathamma's ship set down on a landing pad outside of the Academy's main building, and she left her guards by the loading ramp to meet the school's overseer on a broad walkway that led to the imposing temple. He was a short man with tightly-cropped brown hair and a red tattoo over one eye, and even through the stony facade of a stern overseer shone a bit of beleaguered teacher.

"Darth Crucia." He stopped in front of her and bowed so deeply she thought his nose might scrape the ground. "It is an honor."

"Overseer Harkun." She looked around the academy grounds, tugging off her gloves and slipping them into her robe pockets. Already the heat was getting to her. "Shall we?" she gestured to the entryway.

"Of course." He stood up straight and walked slowly, picking up speed once he saw that the Sith Lord was following him. "I must say, it was a surprise to receive your call—a welcome one."

"I wanted to see what you have on offer. Rumor is that a member of the Dark Council got his start under your tutelage." She leaned forward and watched his face. "Darth Nox?"

Harkun winced at the name. "Yes, that is true." They entered the academy, and students made way for the approaching Sith. "If I may be so bold as to indulge hearsay as well, it is said that you are without an apprentice."

Her lip twitched. "Yes."

"My condolences." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "May I inquire what—"

"Died in battle," she said quickly. "On Rakata Prime."

He gave a nod of empty sympathy and directed his attention back forward. They walked into the building's central room, a multi-storied nexus upon which halls converged, and through which students flowed from dormitory to classroom. A robed Togruta passed by the pair, and Vathamma gave the young woman a disgusted glare that turned to shock once she saw the practice saber hanging from her waist.

"Is that woman _training _here?" Vathamma grabbed Harkun and spun him around, directing his attention towards the student as she passed into an adjoining hall.

"Ah, yes." Harkun wrinkled his lips as if he'd eaten something sour, a look of disgust that nearly matched Vathamma's. "Alien students—a mandate from the higher-ups. Circumstances demanded we cast our net wider, they said."

Vathamma looked around the room aghast, taking note of the alien students she had assumed to be slaves. "Sacrilege!"

Harkun closed his eyes and nodded slowly, seeming to take some solace in finally having found a like-minded sympathizer. "Too true."

"I want a human Apprentice," she said. "A promising one."

"A human can certainly be arranged. None of this alien riff-raff they stuck me with."

She looked Harkun up and down until her eyes settled on his head. "One with brown hair, like yours." She poked a finger at the fringe of his hair. "But with a bit of red in it. And taller—at least as tall as me."

The Overseer furrowed his brow in thoughtful confusion. "I... believe we have a few students like that." With a look around the central room, he gestured down a side hall. "You're welcome to use my office to speak with them, if you wish."

"Yes, that will do."

After being led to the Overseer's office, Vathamma settled into Harkun's chair and folded her hands on the desk, then waited until the door chime sounded.

"Come in," she said through the intercom.

A man entered and bowed, but Vathamma quickly waved him forward and motioned for him to sit down. She looked him over as he remained seated rigid, eyes forward and back straight.

"What's your name?"

"Banok Mer, My Lord." The words were barked out, and his eyes did not budge an inch.

"Mer..." She leaned back in her chair. "Let's play a game of hypotheticals." His eyes flickered to her, and he nodded slightly. "Say I order you to kill someone, and you have no idea why. What would you do?"

"I would execute them, my Lord. Without hesitation."

She raised an eyebrow and unfolded her hands. "You wouldn't ask me who they are, or what they did?"

"No, my Lady."

Her lips curled in distaste and she leaned over the intercom. "Next."

The second student was more relaxed, though still very conscious of the Lord he was meeting with. He was a year younger than the first student, and had a youthful energy that Vathamma found disarming.

"I'm lying at your feet, on death's door because of my own weakness." She leaned over the desk and pointed her hands at the student. "What do you do?"

"I would kill you, my Lord."

She leaned back in her chair and balanced the side of her head on her hand.

"You wouldn't seek aid for me?"

"No, my Lord. By your own admission, you would have brought that fate on yourself by your own weakness. In such an event, the Sith code demands that the Apprentice kill his Master."

He was right, of course. She had done the same to her own Master, many years ago. Back then it had seemed proper, a tradition drilled into her from birth that honor and duty demanded she carry out. Now, it seemed... pointless—not to mention self-defeating.

"What if you knew that there was more I could teach you?" she posed to the boy. "Would you still kill me, knowing that?"

"Knowledge is useless if it does not lead to power," he said. "If weakness led to your death, it means that your knowledge is flawed."

She let out a sound halfway between a groan and a grunt of vague agreement. Every word the boy spoke sounded as if it were right out of a textbook or the mouth of an academy lecturer. She lurched forward in her chair and pressed her finger to the intercom.

"Next."

By the fifth student, Vathamma had stopped asking questions.

"Now remember, I'd taken him from Republic space—I knew he'd still have a soft spot for them."

The student across from Vathamma nodded along politely. She might have been Torin's sister, if his parents had sired a pudgy-faced teenager. Apparently Harkun had run out of males who fit Vathamma's criteria.

"So what do I do?" The Sith let her question linger in the air as she built up to the crescendo of her hour-long tale. "I put a tiny remote explosive in between the capacitors of his lightsaber." She held her fingers a fraction of an inch apart and squinted through the gap at the girl. "Just in case he turned on me."

She went silent, and the student stopped nodding. "Did he, my Lord?"

Vathamma frowned thoughtfully. "Oh, yes. Not that it was a close fight—I would have won eventually, but time was of the essence. So I used my failsafe and blew a hole in his hand the size of a Kaasian plum. He made quite the face." She held out her hand and stared at it in mock shock, then cracked a smile and folded her hands back into her lap.

"I see." The student fidgeted uncomfortably. "And then he was executed?"

Vathamma looked at her in surprise, then shook her head. "Oh, no. He apologized later."

"My Lord? What did he apologize for?"

"For making me hurt him."

The student cast her eyes downward and simply nodded, keeping any other thoughts to herself.

"What is it?" Vathamma tilted her head low to look the woman in the eye.

"Nothing, my Lord. That was an amazing story."

Vathamma frowned. "You looked like you wanted to say something."

"It's just..." The woman shook her head and looked down. "Nothing, my Lord. It is not my place."

"Out with it," Vathamma said. "Speak!"

"I couldn't help but notice that all of the students being interviewed have a very similar look."

Vathamma looked down on her nose. "And?"

"I get the impression you are searching for a copy of your previous Apprentice."

"Well, yes! Why fix what isn't broken?"

"At the risk of harming my own chances at an Apprenticeship, I feel I must point out how unlikely it is that you would find someone like him _here."_

"What do you mean?"

"He was weak." The corners of Vathamma's lips drew downwards. "He couldn't do what was necessary. He let compassion cloud his—"

Vathamma choked the other woman with the Force. "He's not _weak!" _She leaned forward in her chair, tightening her grip on the woman's throat. "He fought with me when no one else would! You didnt even let me get to the part of the story where he saved my life!"

The student's bulging cheeks were turning purple, and Vathamma released her hold on her throat.

"Out, you fat-faced shit!" She pointed at the door behind the girl. "Out!" The student shot up from her chair and ran from the room, leaving the fuming Sith to rest her head on her hands.

"The story's not over yet," she muttered down at the desk. "It's not."

After a few moments spent soothing her rage into a simmering frustration, Vathamma stepped from the office into the hall and rubbed her eyes as the door shut behind her. Harkun walked over, having waited in the wings for the interviews to conclude.

"Were any of them to your liking, my Lord?"

"No!" Her face snapped to his. "Snot-nosed louts, all of them!"

Harkun took a step back and swallowed. "Those were some of our most promising students."

Vathamma laughed. "Then I weep for the future of the Empire." She pointed down the hall towards the student dormitories. "Execute them! Start over!"

He looked at her aghast. "Executions, my Lord?"

She rubbed the sides of her head and shut her eyes. "No, don't execute them." She opened her eyes and drew her brow down into an intense glare. "Give them a good beating. Teach them not to talk back to their superiors."

"It will be done, my Lord."

Vathamma went to leave, and Harkun jogged after her. "I will keep an eye out for any promising newcomers—ones who won't disappoint."

She sighed and waved a dismissive hand. "Don't bother."

* * *

Maliss and Ziare left the frozen planet behind, returning in the latter's shuttle to a cruiser that hovered in orbit above the world. Maliss hadn't detected it in her initial approach—most likely Ziare had sent it off until the Jedi were dealt with. It was half a mile long from bow to stern, sleek and with a slim profile fit for blockade running. The hull was a painted a simple steely blue, with no identifiable indications of allegiance, Republic or otherwise. There was no docking bay, only an exterior platform and a connecting airlock that allowed the pair to pass from their shuttle into the main ship.

Ziare directed Maliss towards the rear of the ship, and the cargo rooms where she could stash the unconscious Togruta. Maliss set her down on the floor of an empty room and sealed the door, then finally tore off her helmet and allowed herself a moment to think.

Her mind reeling with what she'd been told, she pressed her hands to the wall and rested her forehead against it, then began to push, gritting her teeth as the pressure grew. She pulled back a fraction of an inch and thumped her head against the wall, then again, pulling back further and hitting harder each time.

With her ears ringing and head throbbing, she hadn't noticed the man walking down the hall until he was nearly upon her. She turned towards him and started to speak, to offer some poor excuse for why a wall panel had been caved in, but stopped when the man failed to even glanced her way. He wore the uniform of a Republic maintenance crewmen, and his gaze was fixed forward in a glassy-eyed stare that seemed to look right through everything, yet taking in nothing. He continued past a turn in the hallway, moving at a constant gait that was neither hurried nor leisurely—like a droid.

A bit unnerved, Maliss set off towards the front of the ship where Ziare had told her to come after securing the Togruta. On the way there she passed more crew members, some wearing Imperial uniforms while others had civilian jumpsuits on—all of them with the same empty stare.

Ziare stood in front of a holographic display at the center of the room, fingers manipulating projected data and records at a startling speed. Her eyes were intently focused on her work, but she could hear the heavy Mandalorian's approach.

Maliss stopped just short of the Jedi to allow a vacant-eyed crew member to pass between them on the way to some unidentifiable task.

"You want to explain?" she pointed at the man's turned back.

Ziare closed the display with a wave of her hand and turned to her. "The Force can heal a mind—or break it."

"That what you have in store for me?" Maliss' hand edged towards her blaster before moving away. Even if she had any desire to fight Ziare, she couldn't win. The Jedi had beat her handily a decade ago—and unlike Maliss, looked like she hadn't aged a day.

"They are here because I needed hands." She approached Maliss and put her fingers on her cheek. The Mandalorian at first recoiled, but quickly found herself melting into the woman's familiar touch. "You are here because I _want _you here."

Maliss closed her eyes and tried to place her own hand atop Ziare's, but the Jedi's touch ended as abruptly as it had begun. Maliss opened her eyes to see Ziare had turned back to the display and brought up a projection of a planet.

"The Sith, the Jedi, the Force—it needs to end. It all needs to end." With the touch of a button on the console, the planet was torn asunder by waves of energy that cracked the surface before pulling the remains into the a swirling mass of energy where the planet's core had once been. "With a large enough sacrifice, we can have peace—no more than a few hundred thousand dead."

Maliss lowered her voice to a whisper. "You want to kill hundreds of thousands of people?"

**"YES!"** Ziare slammed the console with her fists and spun around to face Maliss. "I would kill _billions _if that's what it took!" The Jedi's face was twisted up in naked anger, and suddenly seemed to show all the wrinkles and lines of accumulated years. The brainwashed crew members continued their duties with unconcerned looks, but Maliss was taken aback by the outburst. Ziare closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then walked towards Maliss and put her hands on her arms.

"If you could fight in any battle in your people's' history, which would you choose?"

"Malachor V," she answered quickly. It was a question she had asked herself before.

"If you could fight any enemy, who would it be?"

Maliss had to think a bit harder on that. "Revan," she finally said.

"I can give you both."

Maliss grinned at the absurd response. "What?"

"Revan lives."

Maliss' smile of disbelief remained, but the Jedi's words seemed so certain.

"Thats impossible. He'd be hundreds of years old."

"To someone with command of the Force, age is nothing but a number."

"So he's been out there _alive, _all these years?"

"Oh, no. He was killed, but it didnt take. Death, like age, is not absolute."

Ziare explained the rest of her plan. It was simple, and beautiful, and everything Maliss wanted—a final battle, one for which she would be remembered forever.

"One problem remains." Ziare flung away the projection of the collapsed planet and brought up a profile of a Hutt. "What I am planning will never work—not without the Hutt scientist."

"And he's..."

"Dead." She brought up an article detailing the Hutt's demise on Makeb and rotated the display towards Maliss. "He was the only one who could have made the Mass Shadow Generator function outside of Malachor V's peculiar gravity well."

Maliss flipped through more articles about the Hutt, then stopped and let out a grunt of amusement.

"What?" said Ziare.

"This paper he wrote—'Artificial gravity for use in sustainable and affordable orbital housing.' Since when did Hutts give a shit about sustainable _or _affordable?"

Ziare leaned over the display and turned her mind towards other matters while she half-heartedly mused on the Mandalorian's question. "Even Hutts need funding. I'm sure the Corellian educational bodies found that title quite moving."

"This was a private paper for the Science Council on Nal Hutta."

Ziare's attention returned, and she spun the holographic display back towards herself. She had already skimmed the paper, and the second read-through told her no more than the first—that the Hutt had been a brilliant scientist, one who could have brought her plan to fruition.

Then, her mind went to her time on Makeb and her first—and last—face-to-face meeting with the Hutt.

"The Hutt wasn't alone." She turned towards Maliss, eyes and fingers working madly as the wheels in her mind spun. "There was a young girl—an assistant. Perhaps _more _than an assistant."

Maliss recoiled in horror.

"A _scientist, _" Ziare continued, and Maliss' expression eased. "Hutts don't indulge charitable thoughts, and scientists do not let their assistants title papers they themselves wrote." The Jedi pushed off of the console and began walking towards the bridge at a fast pace.

"It's time to return home."


	15. Showdown At Kalikori Village

Upon reaching Tython's system, Torin didnt head straight to the planet itself. That would have been a quick route to capture, or worse. Instead, he parked the lumbering cargo craft in the shadow of one of Tython's moons, Bogan, while he made a call.

As he sat with fingers crossed and foot tapping furiously, the call connected. A purple-skinned Twi'lek appeared on the screen, a ramshackle workshop visible behind her.

"Ayahe!" he said, parting his hands and shooting forward in his chair. He was glad to see her again, but his excitement was more from the fact that his _only _plan seemed to have a chance of working.

"I need—" he patted his chest, enunciating each word carefully and then pointing at her. "Your help."

She frowned. "You do not need to talk so slowly."

He had forgotten how quickly she'd picked up rudimentary Basic. Her accent was still as heavy as ever, but she seemed to have improved quickly in the weeks they'd been apart.

"Right." He cleared his throat and stared into her eyes. "I'm in system, and I need to land on Tython. Problem is, the Jedi are looking for me."

"You want me to _disable _the planetary defenses?"

Isatryn shot up from her chair and leaned in front of the screen. "You _will _help us, child!"

Torin shoved her back and re-asserted himself in front of the camera. "What she means is, I wouldn't ask you to do this unless we had a _really _good reason."

"I cannot disable the _entire _planetary defense system."

Torin let out a resigned sigh and slumped back in his chair.

The Twi'lek glanced aside and rubbed one of her lekku between her fingers.

"I can... confuse them. With too many false alerts to handle."

"Yes, yes!" He sat up in his chair. "Then do that. But it needs to happen fast—I can't keep this ship hidden from their patrols for long."

Ayahe leapt up from her seat, knocking over the holocamera as she ran off to the side of the room. She appeared back on screen a few moments later, electronic equipment and a satellite dish bundled up in her small arms.

"I will call you," she said, dipping her head in front of the upended camera. She disappeared again, this time for good. Torin ended the call and sat back, anxiously fingering the armrests of his chair before glancing over at Isatryn.

"She'll call us," he said. The Falleen didnt look encouraged by the assurance, but like him, she was committed to the plan. For now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

When Torin received Ayahe's holocall, he had expected to see her in the same cluttered room. Instead, her head was cast against a clear blue sky with only the faintest wisps of clouds. He leaned into the screen and squinted.

"Where _are _you?"

She angled the camera around, giving him a panoramic view of the Jedi Temple's domed roof and the overgrown mountainscape surrounding it. Beside the Twi'lek was a satellite dish, with wires running to a control box atop the roof.

"Thank you." He swallowed, stomach churning at the thought of her tumbling off to the ground. "Just... be careful, please."

"Are you ready?" she said.

He nodded and wrapped his sweaty fingers around the control stick. "Yeah."

"This will only work once—you will not be able to leave the same way."

"We've already got that figured out."

She threw a switch and looked up at the sky. "It is done."

"Thank you, Ayahe."

He ended the call and brought the transport out of Bogan's orbit, picking up speed as he zeroed in on their destination. With no way to tell from his end that Tython's defenses had been scrambled, he had to have faith that the girl had done her job. He also had to pray that no patrols caught them in the three-minute trip from the moon's orbit to the planet's atmosphere. The Jedi ships couldn't rely on radar with Tython's sensors jammed, but they could still _see _the hulking transport ship.

They descended into Tython's atmosphere without being spotted, and the only resistance they met was the air buffeting the jury-rigged hull Torin had put days into patching. Like the patrols in space, they needed to be careful to avoid going within sight of the Temple's anti-air defenses. After the Imperial raid on Tython, they would undoubtedly have been bolstered. Luckily, Torin and Isatryn were not going anywhere near the Temple. Their destination was Kalikori village, and the former Matriarch who Torin had seen identified in the Black Codex. Seeking her out was a long shot—he didnt even know if she was still _alive_—but long shots were all he had. After taking so many of them, he'd stopped worrying about the odds.

Having avoided the attention of the anti-aircraft batteries surrounding the temple, he set the ship down in a clearing, leaving the Twi'lek village between them and the temple. There was always the danger that a concerned villager would alert the Jedi to the strange ship they spotted landing in the distance, but that was a risk they had to take. The other option was setting down even further from the village, but that would mean more time spent hiking Tython's forested mountains, and each minute they remained on the planet increased their risk of discovery.

Both he and Isatryn left the ship through the hatch in the bottom of the hull, stepping onto solid land for the first time in days.

"This woman still lives in the village?" she said.

"I think so."

They started out of the clearing into the dense forest, avoiding the well-travelled roads and paths that could have taken them to the village more quickly—and with less stinging nettles clinging to their clothes.

"You don't know?"

"I was planning to ask nicely."

She stretched her lips into an expression halfway between annoyance and amusement.

"_I _will ask."

When the town came within sight, both of them were more than ready to leave the forest and its clinging branches. They stopped at the edge of the treeline, scanning the ramshackle buildings and the Twi'leks going about their daily business, unaware of the two Force-users lurking not far away.

"The current Matriarch lives there." He pointed at a larger building near the center of the village. "If we get spotted, it's over. They know my face, and you don't exactly blend in either." Even in the brown settler's outfit she'd grabbed from the prefab home on Rakata Prime, she was eye-catching. Not that she needed to be beautiful to do that. _Any _non-Twi'lek would stand out here.

"If we wait until nightfall, we should be able to slip in without being noticed." He squinted up at the sunlight filtering in through the tree branches above. "Five or six hours, probably. Tython has short days."

A faint crackle drew his attention back to Isatryn. She was standing tall, electricity arcing off of her clenched fist. With a forceful thrust she shot a bolt of lightning across the village rooftops, striking the canopy of a tree on the other side of the settlement. The dry leaves burst into flame with a roar he could hear even from hundreds of feet away. Shouts came from the village as the Twi'leks dropped what they were doing to grab water buckets and saws, rushing towards the flames to isolate the fire before it became an inferno that engulfed the forest.

"What the hell?" he shouted at Isatryn. She took off running, and he followed.

"I am not _waiting _for six hours."

They reached the dusty pathway tracing its way through the village, moving from cover to cover as they made their way towards Ranna's home. Whatever he thought of the Falleen's method, it had worked. The village was empty, all of the Twi'leks moving as one unit towards the fire. Torin followed Isatryn up the steps of the main building and took one last look around the empty village, then closed the door shut behind them.

The meeting hall was empty, as expected, but he could hear hurried chatter from Ranna's office. They pressed themselves to the wall outside her doorway, and Isatryn took one look in before stepping in front of the doorway and dashing in with a burst of Force. Papers flew out of the room from the gust of air, and Torin rushed in after her. The Falleen was standing in front of Ranna's desk, finger on the button of her holoterminal, staring down a very frightened Twi'lek. Ranna was in front of a window that looked out on the fire being dealt with by her villagers, apparently having been in the middle of a call concerning it.

"What is this?" She glanced from Torin, whom she seemed to recognise, to the Falleen. "Who are you?"

Isatryn pointed down at the chair on the other side of the desk. "Sit down." The woman obeyed without question. Within the cramped confines of the office, the Falleen's pheromones needed little time to spread. "Tell them the fire is under control."

She pressed a button on the terminal, reconnecting the call.

"Matriarch? Are you there?"

From behind the projection, Torin could only see the back of a helmeted head—Temple security, most likely.

"Yes, I'm here." She glanced up at Isatryn from her seat. "The fire is under control."

"Do you still require assistance?"

Isatryn shook her head from side to side.

"No. We do not."

"Very well. Let us know if the situation changes."

Isatryn ended the call, then leaned over the desk where the projection had once hovered.

"Where is the previous Matriarch?"

Ranna pulled back in surprise. "My mother?"

Isatryn looked back at Torin, who shrugged with no less surprise.

"Yes, your mother," said Isatryn.

Ranna rose from her seat and led them to a door at the rear of the room. She opened it, revealing what looked to be a bedroom converted into a hospice room. In the center was a hospital bed, atop which lay a blue-skinned Twi'lek. They walked to her bedside, and her face came into view. She looked much like Ranna, but her skin was faded and bore the wrinkles of old age. Her eyes were closed, and her hands folded up on her stomach. Ranna opened a bedside dresser and pulled out a bottle of eyedrops, then scooted past the other two to open her mother's eyes, one after the other, putting a few drops into each. The bedridden woman did not move a muscle.

"Is she in a coma?" said Torin.

"Yes. She suffered a brain hemorrhage a year ago—she may never awaken."

Torin had prepared for the possibility that the woman might have been long dead. Indeed, he had half-expected it. What he _hadn't _expected was this. Kolovish was alive, but she might as well not have been for all the good it did them.

"Sorry," he said to Ranna, then looked to Isatryn. "There's nothing for us here."

The Falleen twisted up her face in annoyance, but said nothing. She knew as well as him that they'd hit a dead end.

"We should leave while the villagers are still—"

As he turned to leave, Kolovish's eyes snapped open and her hand shot out, gripping Torin's wrist like a vice. He didn't have time to pull back or shout in surprise. As soon as she made contact, he was in her mind. This wasn't like when he had delved inside of the Imperial traitor on Dromund Kaas. The Officer's consciousness had been a well-ordered vault. Kolovish's mind was a mess, a chaotic flurry of thought and memory with no coherent connections to grab hold of. All meaning was gone, leaving him to drown in a sea of raw, thrashing sensory information.

Desperate for any order he could manage to bring to the chaos, he reached out for something—anything—the least bit familiar. At first there was nothing, just flashing sights and blaring sounds that assaulted him with raw energy. Then, he felt it—a person. He would not have noticed it had he not felt the same presence in the only other mind he had ever read.

It was Ziare.

Her touch was everywhere, like fingerprints littering a crime scene. She had torn apart the woman's mind like a burglar tossing a house for valuables, tearing out what she needed and leaving the rest a mangled wreck. Even with his attention entirely focused on the inside of Kolovish's mind, he felt his stomach turn and palms sweat. Could the woman he had learned under have done _this?_

There was no pattern to Kolovish's remaining memories, but perhaps he could find one to the impressions Ziare had left. Focusing on where he felt his former Master's presence the strongest, he followed her trail into the storm of that shattered mind until he found an intact cluster of memories that ringed the edge of a vast emptiness. He stopped at the edge of that gaping void and looked at what remained. Ziare had touched it, but had not taken it.

Torin saw Kolovish, furious with the Jedi for nearly forcing her people off of Tython after the latter had begun constructing their temple. An ancient conspiracy had found her, in her anger, and convinced her to join them—the Star Cabal. Then, the group had been destroyed by Imperial Intelligence before it could complete its goal of dismantling the Sith and Jedi orders. Kolovish had escaped death at the hand of a Chiss agent, and fled back to Tython to live out her life in obscurity.

What Torin did not find in those memories of the Cabal was Ziare. The Jedi Master was nowhere to be seen.

Kolovish's hand fell away, and he was back in the hospital room. Isatryn was staring at him in confusion, and Ranna ran over to put her mother's hand back on the bed.

"How long—" He looked between the three woman in shock. "How long was I gone?"

"Gone? You were speaking moments ago." She circled around the bed. "Did you see something?"

"Yeah." He stepped away from the bed to give Ranna room to tend to her mother.

"Well?"

"Kolovish was a member of the Star Cabal—Ziare never was. All the leaders are dead, gone. She was able to gather their old resources by tearing the information from Kolovish's mind." He gestured at the comatose woman. "Leaving _that."_

"And you gave her the Codex, so now she knows _everything _they knew."

He pressed his lips together and cast his eyes downward. "Yeah."

"Then we came here for nothing."

It hadnt been for nothing—he had always known it was a longshot—but the reality of their failure hit him harder than he had expected it to.

"Let's go," he said.

They began to walk out, but he stopped Isatryn and glanced back at Ranna beside her mother's bed.

"Can you have her wait in her office?"

Isatryn did as he asked, ordering the Matriarch out of the room and shutting the door behind them. The room felt empty, but he knew full well that he was not alone. He returned to the Matriarch's bed and leaned over her, hovering his hand over her throat and tensing his fingers ever so slightly. Her chest jerked as he applied force around her throat, constricting her esophagus along with the veins bulging in her neck. As the seconds ticked by in excruciating slowness the woman jerked and spasmed, her body fighting back even as her mind remained broken beyond any hope of repair.

Torin found his grip loosening over and over, and he had to grip his constricting hand with the other to keep it clenched tightly enough to cut off the woman's blood flow. At last her body went still, and a few moments later a final exhalation of air left her lungs as her chest lowered down one last time.

"Sorry," he choked out, then pulled his hand away and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

Without daring to take another look back at what he had done he left the room, shutting the door behind him as he met the other two woman in Ranna's office. The two were staring out a window, but not at a fire. A Republic shuttle was landing at the edge of the village, fanning the flames of the fire the villagers had just gotten under control.

"Who is that?" Isatryn snapped at Ranna. The shuttle set down out of sight, and Ranna stepped back from the window.

"That is the shuttle of Keer's master—he is one of our own. But I do not know why she is landing here."

"You didn't call them?" Torin said to her.

The woman didnt answer.

"I've been with her the whole time," said Isatryn.

Then, he spotted someone not totally unexpected—though it was still a surprise to see her in person again. Ayahe ran down the path past the building they stood in, clutching a bundle of electronics as she went towards her home, her once-broken ankle apparently none the worse for wear. The girl disappeared from view as she drew closer to the shuttle, and panicked shouts followed—then a scream. Torin rushed out of the home and ran towards the source of the commotion, Isatryn trailing shortly after him.

A heavily-armored woman was carrying Ayahe under her arm. The girl screamed and kicked, struggling to break the iron grip clutching her firmly to the woman's side. Beside her walked Ziare, inactive lightsaber in hand. A few Twi'leks lay on the ground, scrambling to their feet after whatever Ziare had done to dissuade them from their attempts to stop the kidnapping of one of their own.

"Hey!" Torin shouted, regretting his outburst as soon as the two women turned around. He didnt know why he hadn't simply taken the two by surprise—perhaps part of him still hoped this wouldn't end with someone else dead. As the helmeted woman turned towards him, his heart skipped a beat in recognition. He wouldn't have recognized her, had he not seen her in the same armor on this same planet months ago.

"Put her down." He drew his lightsaber and switched it on. Isatryn did the same, every muscle in her body tensing in preparation for a fight she desired far more than he did.

Ziare held up a hand, staying the Mandalorian's own as it edged towards her blaster.

"I need her knowledge—she won't be hurt."

"I don't care," he said. "And I don't believe you."

"Then come with me." Ziare gestured at the girl, who had grown quiet. "You can make sure nothing happens to her."

"I'm doing that now." He swallowed and took his lightsaber in both hands. "You and I are staying right here until the Jedi come." Given all the commotion, one of the Twi'leks would undoubtedly have made them aware of what was happening.

"No, we are not." Ziare turned her back to him and motioned for Maliss to do the same. "I have a schedule to keep."

"Is this what you're doing for credits now, Maliss?" he shouted at the Mandalorian as both women walked away. "How much lower are you going to sink?"

Ziare stopped and looked between the two in surprise, but there was no time for her to ask any questions. Tired of waiting and tired of talking, Isatryn ran at the pair with the bottom blade of her saber cutting a path through the dirt. With the girl still cradled under one arm, Maliss drew her blaster and fired a few shots at the Falleen. All of them connected with her twirling saber—not that the Mandalorian had expected them to land. What they did do was force the Falleen to block from the front, giving Ziare an opportunity to shoot forward as Isatryn closed with Maliss, bearing down on the Falleen's side of with her lightsaber poised to strike.

Torin reached out and pulled back on the Jedi, and was pulled through the dirt himself as he slowed her down just enough to miss the Falleen. It was like grabbing onto a charging Bantha, and he had to let go of the sprinting woman to keep himself from simply being pulled over by the force she exerted on him.

Maliss tossed Ayahe at Isatryn and leapt back with a flare of her jetpack, firing a few more shots that grazed the Falleen's shoulder as she moved her lightsaber away from the Twi'lek that barreled into her, sending both women to the ground. Ziare tried to dash at the Falleen, but Torin pulled on her again, forcing her to turn her attention to him.

With her lightsaber held off to her side she poised her body as if to run off away from Torin, but at the last moment spun in the dirt and ran at him as he pulled her towards him. Between her own speed and his pull on her, there was no time to react before she charged into him, delivering a shoulder-blow straight to the chest that threw him back against the side of a house. All the air was knocked from his lungs, and he pushed himself to his feet with pained wheezes as Ziare marched towards him.

"Why do you fight me?" she said. "You should be by my side in this war."

Off in the distance, Maliss leapt up onto the roof of a home and fired off shots at Isatryn while the young Twi'lek fled.

"I'm not letting you _murder _a planet's worth of people because you think it'll fix the galaxy."

"It will!" She clenched her fist in front of her as he crawled to his feet. "I've seen it! It will work!"

He lowered his voice and readied his saber. "I've heard all this before."

Blocking Maliss' shots with one hand on her saber, Isatryn used the other to tear down the home the Mandalorian was perched on, sending up a cloud of debris and drawing Ziare's attention just long enough for Torin to strike. It was a perfect blow. He had an opening, the superior position, and the element of surprise. He drove his saber through her chest, burning a hole straight through from chest to back. He could smell her burned tunic and flesh, could see the smoke wisping up from the wound he had just inflicted.

His legs shook and his hands nearly left the saber while it was still inside her. The strike had been as deliberate as they came—but his body had been more responsible for it than his mind. Only afterwards was he hit with the realization that he'd killed this woman he had once loved.

Except she was not dead. She faced him, seemingly unconcerned with the grievous injury inflicted on her. Her hands fell upon his, holding the hilt steady with surprising strength.

"I'm running out of patience, Torin." Her eyes were narrowed in anger, making him feel like a child being berated by a frustrated parent. He had thought that the only thing stopping him from defeating her was his own reluctance to fight his former Master—that once he overcame that weakness, she would fall, one way or the other. Only now did it occur to him that he couldn't beat her.

Another collapsing building made him glance off to the side, where Isatryn was chasing Maliss through the village as the Mandalorian hopped from rooftop to rooftop. Ayahe ran out from behind one of the homes, and Maliss shot a grappling hook from her wrist, snaring the Twi'lek's ankles and making her fall face-first into the dirt. Maliss reeled her in while the girl clawed at the dirt and shouted in terror.

"Even now, it's not too late." She squeezed his hands tight, bringing his focus back to her. "You made a mistake—but not an unforgivable one."

"It _was _unforgivable," he corrected her. "I should have seen what a monster you were sooner."

She frowned sadly. "You have no idea how it breaks my heart to hear you, of all people, say that."

Suddenly he felt very weak—so weak that his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. It wasn't her words that had taken his strength, it was _her. _The color drained from his hands, and breathing became difficult as her grip on him tightened.

"When I found you, I gave you a second chance." Wisps of energy left his body, tracing a path upwards to a saddened Ziare. "All I wanted from you was the same."

This wasn't exhaustion, or temporary weakness—this was death. A yawning chasm that was pulling him in, taking everything from him until there was nothing left but dust. He tried to tear himself away from the woman, but it was useless. She was too strong, and he was too weak. She pressed down on his thumb, switching off the lightsaber and allowing the gaping hole in her chest to close up within seconds. Still she held onto him, and it was only Maliss' arrival that took her hands away.

"We need to go!" the Mandalorian shouted, pulling back on Ziare with one hand while the other held a hog-tied Twi'lek. Ziare gave Torin one last look before turning away, and he crawled after the pair as they ran towards the shuttle at the edge of the village. A small group of Jedi, bolstered by Temple security personnel, was descending on them from the outskirts.

As soon as Torin managed to drag himself to his feet, he found his eyes drawn upward. Far above the planet's surface, a faint outline became clearer as a huge ship decloaked, a shimmering ripple travelling from bow to stern. The cruiser in orbit burst with energy, raining cannon fire down on the outskirts of the village, killing several Jedi and forcing the rest to scatter back into the treeline. Anti-orbital turret fire came from the Jedi Temple, and was swiftly met by a response from the cruiser as half of its guns re-oriented towards the temple defenses.

The gun fire was moving closer to the village while Ziare and Maliss escaped with their captured girl in tow. He moved to give chase, then stopped as he looked around for the Falleen. Half of the homes in the village were collapsed, wrecks of concrete walls and rusted steel roofing.

A pile of debris exploded in a rain of scrap and concrete, and Isatryn burst forth from the wreckage, scrambling out before breaking into a run towards the shuttle as it rose from the ground. Torin followed her lead, but he didnt dare try to pull down the ship himself—he could barely stand, let alone fight the thrusters flaring at its rear. With a furious expression Isatryn held a clenched hand out beside her head, building up a charge from which blue and purple current lashed outward. Before she could project it towards the retreating shuttle, Torin shoved her aside, throwing off her aim and causing the lightning to shoot off harmlessly into the sky.

"You _idiot!" _She turned her attention to him as the shuttle zoomed off towards the cruiser waiting overhead. He was too exhausted to argue with her, and simply pointed in the direction of the Jedi.

"If we don't get out of here now, we're going to end up in prison cells."

She looked from him to the distant Jedi with a sneer, then pulled him by his collar before breaking out into a run. They fled from the decimated village towards a waiting ship—but not the freighter they had arrived in. The cargo vessel would likely have already been found by the Jedi, and it stood no chance of escaping the planetary defenses now in full battle mode.

The two fled back into the treeline, tearing through brush and scrub towards a destination Torin had to pray Isatryn knew well enough to find in the chaos. Whatever Ziare had done to him was beginning to wear off, but that bit of recovery didnt mean much when he was pouring every ounce of energy into a full-on sprint away from the Jedi eager to capture—or kill—the intruders on their sacred planet. He supplemented his burning muscles with the power of the Force, pushing them past their limits. He would pay the price later, but current survival meant more than future comfort.

Isatryn slowed her run as they shot into a clearing, and Torin barreled past her, seeing no reason to slow down. Within seconds he came face-first with the reason, falling back to the ground with ringing ears and a pounding skull. As he lay there in stunned silence with an open mouth, Isatryn walked past him and ran her hands over the invisible shape in front of her until she found what she was looking for. She pulled down, triggering the manual release on her ship's ramp and giving Torin a view of the interior as he sat upright. The exterior of the craft remained cloaked, giving the appearance of some reality-defying portal.

The rustle of bushes and the cry of fleeing birds came from far behind them, and they hurried aboard the ship, closing the ramp just before a group of five Jedi burst into the clearing a short distance away. Isatryn walked quietly through the ship's small cargo bay to the bridge, taking a seat in the captain's chair as Torin leaned over her seat. The Jedi outside were fanning out, trying to pick up the trail of their quarry as Isatryn started the engines. A burst of air shot through the clearing, tossing a few of the Jedi to the ground and making the others looking around in confusion with sabers drawn. There was no time for them to figure out what had happened. The ship was in the air seconds after the thrusters switched on, moving out of Tython's atmosphere and away from their pursuers.

The planetary defenses had gone quiet as well—Ziare, and her ship, were gone.

* * *

Back aboard Ziare's cruiser, the Jedi hurried to the bridge and gave the order to leave the system while Maliss took Ayahe to the same room she had stashed Nomi in. The ship was rocked by cannon fire from Tython's surface, and more was coming once the patrols within the system converged on the hostile vessel. Maliss steadied herself against the door frame as an explosion against the hull nearly sent her falling sideways, and the young girl under her arm almost escaped her grip as she kicked and shrieked with renewed vigor.

Maliss wrapped her in a bear hug and hit the controls on the door with her elbow, then stepped into the doorway and flung the girl across the room. The Twi'lek rolled across the floor before hitting the far wall, grimacing as her ribs met a hard steel outcropping running around the edge. The Mandalorian had been so concerned with getting the girl out of her hands that she hadn't stopped to consider the room's other occupant, and the fact that she was nowhere to be seen—not until a pipe swung into her field of vision, shaking her head in her helmet and putting a ringing in her ears.

One hand shot out to grab onto the doorway, the other grabbing the pipe as it came down on her head a second time. She yanked it from Nomi's grip and tossed it to the floor, then turned to her right and grabbed the woman by the throat. Nomi let out a gurgled protest as she beat at the Mandalorian's outstretched arm, but was forces to stop when Maliss slammed the side of her head against the wall beside the doorway.

"I'm _not _in the fuckin' mood."

Maliss stepped back out while the Togruta picked herself up off the floor, then closed the door just in time for the imprisoned woman to throw herself against it.

"You cannot keep me in here!" she shouted.

Maliss tore off her helmet and stormed off, swearing under her breath and working out the kinks in her neck while she made her way to the ship's command center. Ziare was waiting for her, leaned up against the holographic display at the center of the room with her arms crossed. Before Maliss could say a word, Ziare unfolded her arms and lifted the woman up by her neck, then walked the her over to the edge of the room and slammed her against the wall.

"Explain," she said. Unable to even breathe, Maliss could do little but choke out a few incoherent sounds. The Jedi's anger lessened enough for her to realize that she was going to kill the woman before she got any real answers, and she let her hold on the Mandalorian's neck loosen enough for her to drop to her feet, though she still kept her held against the wall.

"Do you know him?"

"Yeah, I know him."

"How?"

"Well..." She looked off and upward, deep in thought. "I almost killed him, then he almost killed _me, _then I tried to kill him again—"

"_You _were the Mandalorian?" Ziare stepped forward and tightened her grip. "You were the one who took him from Tython!" She chewed her lip as past events slotted into place in her mind. "Why did you keep this from me? You could have helped me convince him to come back." She released her grip on Maliss, who let out a dejected laugh.

"No, I couldn't have. He hates my guts."

"Because you took him from his home."

Maliss stared at the ground. "Yeah, that's probably it."

Ziare approached her and raised her fingers to Maliss' head. "You're going to show me."

**"No."** Maliss snatched the Jedi's wrist before her fingertips could make contact. "If you want my help, you're not messing around in my brain."

The room was silent for a few moments, the only movement a trembling of both women's' arms as Ziare's expression grew angrier and she tried to force her hand to Maliss' head. At last she gave up, pulling away and stepping back.

"Show me where you put the Twi'lek girl. You will be taking her to Yavin IV to complete the work I've begun there."

"And if she refuses?"

"She won't. Not after I'm done with her."

Maliss' heart wavered at the implication, but she quieted those thoughts. What was this compared to everything else she'd done?

"Where are _you _going?"

"To Rishi. Revan is convinced he can lure the Republic and Empire into a battle neither of them will win."

"You don't sound so sure."

"Oh, I think he very well could succeed. Which is why I will be making sure his plan fails. He can't be allowed to defeat them—not there, not yet."

* * *

After the Mandalorian had left, Nomi banged her fists against the door for another few moments, yelling until she remembered that someone had just been tossed into the room with her. She hurried over to where the young girl was laying on the floor, one hand clutched to her side in pain.

"Are you alright?" Nomi helped her sit upright against the wall, but the girl shoved her away.

"Hands off!" she shouted.

Nomi held out her palms apologetically and backed away from the girl before sitting back against a different wall.

"Do you know where we are?" Nomi was tempted to ask her what the Jedi was up to, but the girl looked too young to venture a guess. Still, there had to be _some _reason to take such a young Twi'lek.

"Tython."

Nomi raised an eyebrow. "Are you a Padawan?"

"No. I am normal."

"Do you know what they want with you?"

"I do not, but it does not matter. Soon, I will be rescued." Ayahe eyed Nomi from the corner of her vision. "Maybe you will be, too, if you are lucky."

Nomi smiled. "You sound very sure."

"He will come for me—he is a Jedi."

"Who is a Jedi?"

"My boyfriend."

Nomi frowned and looked her up and down. "How old are you?"

Her face expressionless, the Twi'lek's eyes flickered away briefly. "He will be my boyfriend, soon."

"Well, I hope he comes."

"Do you not have one?"

"Someone to save me?"

"No, a boyfriend."

Nomi wrinkled her brow in confusion, and no small amount of annoyance.

"No, I do not."

"Oh." Ayahe looked away and twiddled her thumbs for a few moments before looking back at her. "When I worked for the Hutt, he would fire dancers when their beauty faded."

Nomi's face hardened as she sought to keep from betraying her increasing frustration with the girl. "I see."

"You should find a boyfriend once we escape, as your beauty will soon fade."

Desperate to change the subject, Nomi held up her hands and forced a smile. "I do not have a boyfriend, but I do have someone coming for me. I, too, am sure of it."

"Who?"

"A Sith," Nomi stated confidently.

"If a Jedi and Sith meet, they will fight."

Nomi's strained smile relaxed into a genuine smirk. "Well, let us hope they do not meet."

"You can hope that." Ayahe looked back forward. "It does not matter to me—the Jedi would win."

"Ok, then _I _will hope they do not meet." They sat in silence for a full minute, the tension building until Nomi spoke again. "But if they did, the Sith would win."

Before Ayahe could respond, the door to their room opened, revealing the Mandalorian who had imprisoned them both.

"Up," she said, her voice an inhuman echo through the filtration system of her helmet. The other women rose to their feet, but only to back away to the far side of the room. With the clank of heavy boots and the hiss of a respirator their captor entered, cornering the young Twi'lek and grabbing her around the waist as he kicked and thrashed, beating uselessly at the larger woman's armor as the latter carried her from the room. Nomi ran after them through the open door, only to be grabbed by the middle-aged Jedi who had first captured her.

"Not so fast." Ziare smiled at her, tightening her hold on Nomi's wrist and keeping her held fast as Ayahe was carried down the hall. The Jedi was nowhere near the size of the Mandalorian, but her grip was inhumanly strong. "You and I have a call to make."

* * *

With their ship cloaked, fleeing Tython's system had been a simple matter. Deciding _where _to flee was harder—without any leads or means to know where Ziare was headed, he had simply told the Falleen to pick a random system and then stormed into the rear hold to stew in silence. After entering hyperspace, Isatryn rose from the captain's chair and went to the cargo hold to find him pacing back and forth, hand held it to his head and eyes pointed at the ground. She stomped towards and gave him a hard shove, making him drop his hand and turns towards her.

"I could have stopped them!" she shouted.

His surprised expression turned angry. "Did you forget the girl they had on board? We're trying to _save _her—"

"It is you who forgot! We are trying to save the _galaxy, _not one girl!" She shoved him again, harder. "But you were too weak to do even that!" She bore down on him as he stumbled back, but he steadied himself and met her face-to-face.

"I tried!" He jabbed her in the chest. "I stabbed her, right here!"

"And then you stopped!" Isatryn shoved his hand away. "You could have cut her head off, let her try and recover from that—but you didn't."

She was right. He wanted to chalk his reluctance up to surprise at the failed first strike, but it wasn't that. The reality of _seriously _trying to end her life had been too much for him to handle—even after everything she had done.

Seeing that he wasn't even going to bother defending himself, Isatryn's lips curled in disgust and she turned towards the ship's only bedroom. "You take watch. I'm resting."

Isatryn slammed the door behind her, and Torin went to the cockpit to slump down into the pilot's seat in total defeat. It was one thing to feel outmatched and outsmarted by an opponent—it was another to be left with no means to confront them at all. He couldn't kill Ziare, he couldn't stop her from taking Ayahe, and now he had no way of even _finding _her.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He had someone he could call on—someone with far more resources than himself. It was a call he had not wanted to lower himself to making, but he had precious few other options. Isatryn had hit the mark in one respect—he needed to keep in mind why he was doing this.

If swallowing his pride meant saving Ayahe—and Gods knew how many other lives—it had to be done. He knew that, but he still found his heart sinking and stomach churning as he leaned over the console and logged into his Holonet account. As he prepared to make a call, he saw a video message had been left for him—a _very _recent one.

The sender was unidentified, but the moment her face came on screen he recognized her. As she spoke and he listened, his pained frown turned into a faint smile.


	16. Everything Burns

In a heavily fortified Revanite compound, Ziare stood before a towering holographic projection of a dead man. He wore a tattered robe as ancient as himself, and a dark mask with a single glowing red slit running across the eyeline. She had never seen him without the mask—no one had. Still, the force of will she could feel even across the vast gulf of space separating them left little doubt in her mind. This was Revan, returned after hundreds of years.

"The Empire is on their way. An entire fleet, in warp to Rishi," said Revan, his booming voice filling the command room.

"That was your plan, Lord Revan. There is a Republic fleet in orbit above the planet as we speak."

"But not their _entire _fleet," he shot back. "It is too soon."

"One must strike while the iron is hot. We may never get an opportunity like this again. The signal jammer is ready, your fleet is in position, and the saboteurs are aboard their ships, ready to turn on your command."

"Is there a reason you desire battle so soon?" Revan said. He had grown paranoid, and her avoidance of any physical meeting with him had done much to stoke those fears, but a face-to-face was not a risk she had been willing to take. She could hide what she had become from the Jedi Masters on Tython, but a Force user as powerful as Revan would see right through her.

"I left the Jedi Order to follow you." She began to circle the hologram, and Revan turned to face her. "I _killed _two Jedi. I am the one who gave you the ancient knowledge required to make your ultimate goal possible."

She could hear Revan seethe beneath his mask. "I cannot resurrect the Sith Emperor until the Republic and Empire have both been cleared from the board."

"Then act now! Every moment you delay, the Emperor grows stronger. If he is allowed to incarnate at a time and place of his choosing, he will be too powerful for even you to defeat."

Revan remained silent. He may have been suspicious of Ziare, but he was also desperate. Trying to assuage his suspicions was futile. Instead, she played to the very real fears she knew he harbored. After a few moments, he spoke.

"You are certain the signal jammer remains undiscovered?"

"Absolutely."

On the contrary, she knew with certainty that the jammer had been discovered by Imperial Intelligence weeks prior. That, she had seen too personally. The Black Codex which Torin had stolen from Dromund Kaas had a tracker inside of it, one she had made a point not to remove.

"Then prepare for battle," said Revan. "Today, both Empire and Republic fall."

The call ended, and the room brightened as the holographic projector went dark. Ziare leaned over the console and placed another call, establishing an audio link to the garrison commander.

"My Lord?" came the man's voice on the other end.

"Captain—the battle will begin within the hour. Take your men and establish positions on the roads between here and Raider's Cove."

"The roads? But my Lord, if we're to protect the signal jammer, surely it would be wiser to—"

"What would be _wise _is for you to not second guess my orders, Captain. Leave two squads here with me, and get the rest of your men moving."

"Yes, my Lord," he answered hurriedly. "We'll move out at once."

With that the call ended, and within seconds the military complex was alive with the blare of alarms and the flash of sirens, summoning the base's guards to their rally points. Ziare pushed off of the console and strode off in a flutter of robes, making her way to the rear of the base.

She had a battle to lose.

* * *

After watching the message he had received, Torin shot up from his chair and ran to the back of the ship, then opened the door to the bedroom where Isatryn had shut herself up. The Falleen was wide awake, lying on the wall-mounted bed with a datapad held over her face.

"Do you _knock?" _She sat up and tossed the tablet onto the bed.

"Come here!" He motioned for her to follow and raced back to the cockpit. Once the woman had reluctantly followed and stood behind him, he replayed the message for her. Nomi appeared on screen, a nondescript warehouse behind her.

"I will have to make this quick. They will soon notice I am gone." She glanced off to the side before leaning into the camera. "The Jedi captured me on Manaan after we were separated. They think I know things that can be of use to them."

Torin tapped his foot anxiously, barely able to keep himself seated.

"But they came here, first, to Rishi. I overheard them talking. They tracked your Jedi teacher here, but she went to Tython before they could catch her. Now, they think they have found the Mass Shadow Generator—in a compound outside of the city."

Coordinates were included with the message, marking a destination not far from the sole bastion of civilization on the planet.

"They do not dare assault it until reinforcements arrive—but I am sure you can find a way where they cannot." She smiled confidently, and he found himseld smiling in response. "Once you have the weapon, return to your ship. I will be waiting for you."

This was the second time he had heard her words, but they still made his heart pound madly in his chest.

"We will leave together, and this time we will _stay _together. I love you." She touched the screen, and he resisted the urge to do the same—as he had done the first time he'd watched. The video feed went black, and Torin twisted around to see Isatryn's reaction to what she'd heard.

Isatryn frowned. "I don't like this."

"What's not to like?" He gestured at the viewscreen. "We can destroy the generator before the Jedi have a chance to take if off-world. Without that weapon, Ziare will just be a madwoman with a dream."

"This is too easy."

"I trust Nomi—and you know what? Nothing about this has been easy so far. The universe owes us one."

"What about that girl the Jedi took?"

He turned back around and tapped his fingers on the armrests anxiously. "One thing at a time."

Isatryn remained silent for a few moments, hands squeezing his headrest, but she could think of no real objections beyond a vague sense of unease, and that was not enough to pass up the opportunity that had dropped into their laps.

"Fine," she said, walking back to the rear of the ship. "To Rishi."

* * *

Forty-eight hours of near-sleepless travel later, they were within sight of the jungle planet. Nar Shaddaa may have been known as the 'Smuggler's Moon,' but Rishi was a far more suitable candidate for that moniker. With the former firmly under the Hutt's control, every 'lawless' credit that passed through had a fraction shaved off that went into their bulging pockets. They were the kings of that place, and everyone knew it.

Rishi, on the other hand, had no kings. It might have had some tribal leaders, back when the bird-like Rishii were the sole inhabitants of the planet they'd given their namesake to. Nowadays the planet was a true smuggler's paradise, where the only law was the one of Might Makes Right. Pirate groups, slavers, spice cartels, and even an errant Mandalorian clan had established bases on the continental planet, using it as a staging ground for the business they conducted in more civilized space.

The only place on the planet with a semblance of normal law was Raider's Cove, a seaside town built around the planet's first spaceport. The groups that had carved up the planet like a hunk of meat kept a presence there, like embassies in some foreign capital. If someone needed to conduct business with one of the groups, that would be their first destination.

Torin and Isatryn had one of those groups in mind—the Revanites. They set down in the starport and convinced the port manager that a docking fee wasn't necessary, but the Force-persuaded man still asked for a bribe to make sure their ship didnt have any unfortunate accidents. Isatryn dropped a half-eaten fruit into his grubby palm and told him he was robbing them blind—he seemed satisfied with that, and sent them on their way. Everything in the city seemed to be run like a protection racket or scam, and they couldn't walk twenty feet without someone bumping into them to fish around their credit-less pockets.

Eventually they reached the sea-side warehouse Nomi had described to them, a dilapidated shack of a building some hundred feet long. A hauler sat in front of the open doorway, grav lifts buckling under the weight of the rear compartment as workers loaded it up with fuel and ammunition. They gave the two strangers suspicious looks as they approached, though the ones they shot the Falleen were a bit different than the ones Torin received. A stubble-faced man with the look of a military veteran hopped out of the driver's seat, hitching up his pants as he went to meet them.

"Help y'all?" he said. It was clear from his tone that he had no desire to actually be of aid.

"Hmm..." Isatryn grumbled thoughtfully as she peered around the man at the soldiers loading up the cruiser. They weren't Republic _or _Imperial, but they did seem to have uniforms—drab brown segmented armor that would be needed if she and Torin weren't going to look out of place once they reached their destination.

"Tell your men to come over here."

The veteran barked out a quick order that had the four other soldiers setting down the crates in their hands and strolling over in confusion.

"Who are they?" A woman said to the driver.

He didnt respond, and Isatryn leaned over to squint at the woman's boots.

"What size shoes do you wear?"

The woman scratched her cheek and looked down at her feet. "F-forty three," she stammered off, seemingly confused about why she was so forthcoming with that information to a total stranger. The other three soldiers Isatryn had not yet spoken to eyed her nervously, but she turned her attention to them next.

"All of you—" She pointed at the driver. "—Except you. Take your blasters out and point them between your eyes." She waved her hand in front of their faces as she spoke, and they obeyed without hesitation.

"Hey, hey!" Torin used the Force to try and put their pistols back into their holsters, but he only had two hands and there were _four _mind-controlled soldiers determined to end their lives.

"Stop this," he hissed at Isatryn.

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand at the group. "Put your weapons on the ground and strip nude." As they hurriedly undressed, her eyes fell on the particularly paunchy man at the end of the line, and her lip curled in distaste. "Keep your underwear on."

Once their uniforms were tossed in a heap in front of them, they were shepherded into the warehouse and tied up, then locked in a supply closet. After using the Force to slide a particularly heavy crate against the outward-opening door, Isatryn and Torin picked up the uniforms left in front of the building's doorway. The driver stood there waiting for them, and Torin spun the vacantly-staring man around to face the hauler before joining Isatryn as she began changing.

"You are like a child," she said with a laugh.

Isatryn directed the driver to take his new passengers to his planned destination, then clambered into the rear cab alongside Torin. After a half hour of driving they were out of the city, treading a jungle path to the Revanite compound.

* * *

"All ships prepare to leave warp."

The voice on the loud speaker echoed throughout every room on the massive battleship. Vathamma stood on a raised platform at the front of the bridge, staring out at the slowing warp tunnel laid out in front of her. She was flanked by dozens of computer stations and personnel, all busy with preparing the small fleet she led for the battle that was to come. Hers was one of many groups converging on Rishi to meet the Republic ships staged there in open battle. Pirates had harassed the shipping lanes of both groups for some time, and the Republic had responded by besieging the pirates onto their homeworld. With no way to leave, they would slowly go broke.

Darth Marr was of a similar mind, but had a bolder plan. The Empire would overwhelm the Republic fleet with superior numbers in a display that would put a primal fear into the Rishi pirates—but otherwise leave them unharmed. The thinking was that the show of force would convince the raiders to focus their efforts on the softer target, and avoid Imperial routes.

The tactics of the plan were sound, but the grand strategic goal was too complex for her tastes. There was another reason she held doubts as to Marr's plan. The Republic fleet was bait. That, she knew for certain. For weeks she had kept a tail on her top agent, Cipher Nine. His punishment hadn't extended beyond their brief encounter on Rakata Prime. Instead, she had given him just enough rope to hang himself with. Her spies had placed him on Rishi, in the company of one Lana Beniko, whom he made no attempt to apprehend. When Vathamma had been informed of Marr's plan, that coincidence had been enough for her to dedicate more resources to scouting out the pirate haven. There, her agents had found a massive jamming structure of recent construction—one placed within range of the Republic fleet.

With that, the trap had become clear. The Republic aimed to lure the Empire into a battle that looked like a certain victory, then jam all communications as the bulk of the Republic fleet arrived to join the battle. Unable to call for help—or even communicate with one another—the Empire would suffer its worst defeat since the war began.

Such was their plan, but she had confidence it would not play out so well for the Republic. With the commanders of the Imperial fleet jockeying for a spot on the front lines of what looked to be an easy battle, she had no trouble assuming a role safely in the rear. Once the battle began and Republic reinforcements arrived, her ship would be in the perfect position to destroy the signal jammer and free the Imperial fleet's communications. Darth Marr, her benefactor, could well die in the early stages of the battle, but that would simply free up a spot on the Dark Council for the taking. Ordinarily she wouldn't have allowed herself such high-flung fantasies minutes before a battle, but the prospect seemed too real to put away. Her hard-won victory against Lord Andar, for all it had cost her, had only pushed her up a few rungs on the Imperial ladder. This time was different—she would be a hero to the entire Empire.

"Darth Crucia?" came an urgent, yet deferential voice.

Vathamma looked down from her parapet to see one of the officers staring up at her. The man sat hunched over a desk surrounded by view screens, monitoring the intel being fed in from the ground agents on Rishi. Unlike the majority of the ship's personnel, he wasn't a member of the Imperial Navy. She had plucked him from the Ministry of Intelligence and placed him aboard the ship, in order to keep secret the sensitive plan she had concocted.

She walked down a stairwell beside the platform and went to the man's desk.

"Our agents finally managed to tap into the biometric feeds at the Republic compound, and, well..."

He pulled up a video feed of a door-mounted security camera facing the base's sky docks. Skipping through dozens of comings and goings by random gun-toting soldiers, he stopped as a human man and a Falleen woman approached the door. There was Torin, clear as day.

"What is this?" she hissed at no one in particular. She couldn't believe her eyes.

"This is the compound!" the officer exclaimed in hushed tones. "This is the base they built around the signal jammer, one minute ago."

"He's _inside _there?"

The man started to speak, but stammered off and shrugged. "I haven't seen them leave."

Vathamma stood up straight and exhaled sharply between her teeth in a heated mix of confusion and frustration. Why was he here, and why now?

A shudder passed through the hulking battleship as they dropped out of warp. With her attention focused elsewhere, she had momentarily forgotten why she had come to the bridge in the first place.

"My Lord."

The bridge's commanding officer, an elderly man with a waxed mustache, was leaning on the railing above Vathamma, where she herself had just been standing. "The forward groups have engaged."

He pointed up out the front windows, and she rushed back up the stairwell to join him. Miles off in the distance, the bulk of Marr's fleet was moving into position to do battle with the Republic fleet. Already the first rounds of cannon fire were being exchanged, green and red lasers colliding with faint blue shields in a brilliant display of light that was only just beginning.

"Commander!" A call from another one of the technicians, this one addressed to both her and the captain by her side. "We're in position."

The captain looked from the technician to her expectantly. She had given him the exact position of the signal jammer on Rishi's surface, and told him the entire plan—or at least the parts he needed to know.

"On your order, my Lord," said the Captain.

Eyes wide and bottom lip clutched tightly between her teeth, she looked from the raging battle to the surveillance officer she had spoken to a moment ago.

"Commander!" The same technician called out for them, his voice more urgent than ever. "More ships are warping in, and communications with the rest of the fleet are being jammed! I'm cycling through the frequencies, but—"

As he rattled off more jargon, the Captain leaned in towards the Sith.

"My Lord, we're ready to fire on the jammer."

Off in the distance, ships were dropping out of warp near the Republic fleet. They didnt _look _like Republic ships, but they must have been—they had to be.

"Well, hold on!" Her heart pounding, she gripped the railing and squeezed her sweaty fingers around the cold metal. The Captain eyed the woman nervously as she steadied herself. Without warning she pushed off of the railing and broke out into a run towards the elevator at the rear of the bridge.

"Send a strike team to the docking bay!" she shouted back at him as she ran. "We'll disable it from the surface."

"My Lord, we can simply _fire—"_

She didn't hear the rest. The elevator doors shut behind her, and she tapped her foot anxiously as the lift shot down to the docking bay and its waiting assault craft.

* * *

"I said I did not like how easy this seemed," said Isatryn. She lowered her voice as she and Torin passed a pair of soldiers, though the latter paid them little attention. They were busy rushing towards whatever call to action was indicated by the alarms blaring throughout the complex's labyrinthine halls. "Now I like it even less."

He wouldn't say it, but she was right. After leaving the hauler they'd stowed away in, security had been nearly non-existent. A single automated door scanner had been the only guard who had given them any difficulty, and it hadn't even been biometric. After a quick scan of the armor they had taken from the soldiers in Raider's Cove, the front door had been flung wide open for them. It wasn't the kind of security you would expect from a group harboring a superweapon.

"I think your concubine's intel was false. The weapon is probably not even here."

That wasn't something he'd seriously considered. After all, he could _feel _it—a yawning hole in the Force that drew him forward, like water circling a drain. He wasn't sure if he could turn back now, even if he wanted to.

"We're close," he shot back at her. They came to a set of doors, this one sealed with a keycard-activated lock. With a glance back at the empty hall to their rear, the pair dropped the rifles they had been carrying for show and took out their lightsabers, then used the Force to wrench open the heavy metal doors with a sharp creak that would have anyone within earshot coming to see what the commotion was.

The next room was a warehouse, dimly lit save for the glowing blue fuel cells scattered across the metal racks lined up against the walls. Munitions and crates of ammo filled the shelves, though gaps had been left by whatever flurry of activity had led the Revanites to arm themselves for. Still, there were enough missiles and bombs to wage a war.

As Torin walked forward, scanning the room, his eyes fell on a lone figure standing at the end of one of the shelves. He pushed Isatryn off to the side as he himself moved to hide, but stopped when he recognized the distinctive white-and-blue lekku of a woman he hadn't expected to see yet.

"Nomi?" he hissed, looking around the room as he jogged towards her. She was still wearing her Imperial uniform, and didnt move a muscle as he slowed to a walk beside her.

"Hey!" He waved a hand in front of her eyes—they were glassy, unfocused. Frowning in concern, he shook her by the shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

The snap of fingers echoed throughout the room, and Torin turned back to Isatryn. Like him, she was looking around for the source of the noise. For the first time since they had entered the room, Nomi moved, walking past them towards the doorway they had come through. Torin went to grab her, but whirled about when Isatryn's eyes focused past him and she drew her lightsaber.

Off at the other end of the room, standing under one of the overhead lamps like a performer in a spotlight, was Ziare. Her lightsaber was gripped in both hands, though she hadn't activated it yet. No sooner had he caught sight of her than everything slotted into place in his mind. Isatryn was right—it was a trap. More than that, it was a trap with false bait. The yawning emptiness that had drawn him here wasn't the Mass Shadow Generator—it was Ziare herself.

The Jedi walked forward, passing from the light back into darkness, seeming to become invisible in the murky shadows. For a few moments he waited for her to enter the next patch of light, but she never did. The crack of thunder sounded overhead, and he looked up to see fluttering robes and a double-bladed green lightsaber dropping down from above. The blade came down on his own with all the force of the falling woman, forcing him to his knees. Isatryn rushed at the Jedi's turned back, but like that the Jedi was gone, as if the shadows themselves had simply swallowed her up.

"I was your teacher, but you taught me, as well." Her voice came from every dark corner and unlit shelf, a thousand taunting echoes. "I thought I could save them, but they cannot be saved—not as they are now."

Torin and Isatryn circled around, pressing their backs together as they moved to the center of the room, away from the confines of the towering racks of armaments.

"Jedi!" shouted Isatryn. "Put that lightsaber down your throat!"

Ziare laughed. "That would not have worked on me a decade ago." A _boom _shook Torin from the rear, rattling his teeth in his skull. He spun around Isatryn just in time to see Ziare emerging from a cloud of dark smoke wreathed with lightning, tendrils of the inky cloud clinging to her as she moved. "It certainly won't work now!" She sliced at the bottom of one of the racks, cutting out the supports from under it. Again she vanished, leaving a dozen levels of shelves to tilt downward, sending a flood of armaments of all weights and sizes onto Torin and Isatryn. He threw up a barrier around the two of them, grunting as thousands of pounds of metal and plastic clattered atop the rippling shield. One of the glowing fuel cells bounced to the floor and split open, sending streams of luminous blue liquid in every direction.

Ziare appeared between the two of them, whirling about in a blur of green plasma and forcing both Torin and Isatryn to face each other before she disappeared again, only to reappear behind Isatryn. As Torin had learned—but never dared to say—the Falleen had never been a master swordsman. Twice he had outclassed her, and he himself was little match for the Jedi they now faced. Even that disparity in skill might not have been fatal, if Isatryn was using her usual single-bladed sabers—but she was not.

Ziare swung her saber upward, cutting through the center hilt of Isatryn's own weapon as the Falleen spun to meet her. With another swing Ziare cut a wide arc across the Falleen, slicing her from armpit to shoulder. There was no scream, no agonized cry of pain—only the sickening _thump _of her left arm falling to the ground, following by her slumping to the floor.

Torin's jaw dropped and he charged at Ziare in a blind rage, but even in his anger he could not match her speed. Ziare teleported behind Torin, pressing her chest to his back and holding his arms fast before he could even react. He tried desperately to angle his lightsaber for a backwards thrust at her head as she nestled it against his neck, but the strength was already leaving his body.

"I thought this would be hard for me, but it isn't—it feels right." Her lips brushed his ear as two of her fingers slid up his right hand from his wrist, keeping his saber hand still. Torin stumbled about with Ziare clinging to his back, groaning in anguish as a cold grip seized his very soul.

"Sshh..." she soothed him. "It will be over soon. I will take you inside of me, where you will be safe—forever."

Torin had been close to death before, but this was different. In times past he'd been faced with that trepidation born of an uncertainty as to what came next. Paradise? Damnation? Union with the Force?

This time, he knew with absolute certainty what faced him—oblivion. He felt his life force being torn asunder, devoured by a hunger without end. Soon, there would be nothing left.

Ziare let out a grunt and leaned her weight onto him. What followed was immense pain—like electricity, surging through his body. She screamed in agony and released her hold on him, allowing him to fall forward onto his knees. Looking to his rear, he saw Isatryn, her remaining arm wrapped tight around Ziare's neck, dragging the woman back as Force lightning wreathed the two in a brilliant blue light, surges of current shooting off from the pair in wild displays of raw power. Ziare shrieked in pain and rage, clawing at the Falleen as she spun about and tried to free herself.

"Run!" Isatryn shouted. A stray bolt crept across the fuel-slicked floor, sparking a fire that quickly spread to every inch of the warehouse the liquid had touched.

Torin stood up and began to move towards the warehouse exit, but stopped and turned back with his lightsaber drawn. Underneath the racks of munitions the fire was growing, flames lapping at the volatile stores of weaponry. The struggling Jedi and Falleen stumbled through a wall of fire, catching their robes alight.

"I said _run!" _she repeated, her voice booming over the crackle and hum of her lightning.

Torin could no longer resist her words. Part of his mind screamed at him to stay, to fight, but his legs were already moving him towards the doorway.

"And don't forget me this time!"

An explosion followed, nearly sending him to the ground before he managed to clamber through the doorway into the hall. Hot air beat at his back, driving him onwards as he rushed through the siren-lit hallways. No matter how far he ran he could hear Ziare's screams, but they were soon drowned out by an explosion that made the first sound like a round of firecrackers. The entire building creaked as immense heat built up within the walls, cracking reinforced concrete and making his skin feel as if it would catch alight simply from touching the air.

Stumbling as another blast sent flames clawing at his back, he heard a _thunk _beneath his feet as the floor turned hollow. With no doorway or hiding place in sight, he used the Force to tear up the flooring and dropped down into a crawl space beneath the complex, wedging himself in between the scorching metal floor above and the concrete foundation below. Flames shot past just as he pulled the floor back down, shielding himself with the metal sheet and a barrier of Force energy as a massive inferno engulfed the compound. Fire and heat roared above him like a storm, making him sweat and pant as he struggled to keep his shield intact. Chunks of wall and ceiling rained down on the floor above him, threatening to bury him alive if he dared let up for even a moment.

* * *

Elsewhere in the Revanite compound, Vathamma hit the door release on her drop pod. The metal slab dropped ten feet to the floor of the hallway, down from the ceiling where her pod had embedded itself. She slid out through the gap she had made, drawing her lightsaber before her feet touched the floor. Blaring sirens assaulted her eardrums, and the darkened hall was lit only by the red and yellow emergency lights running along the walls. With no idea of where Torin was, she started to make her way towards the center of the compound, and the controls for the nearby signal jammer. Once that was disabled, she could get to work securing the area and locating her former Apprentice.

She moved through the halls, encountering no resistance. Every few moments she heard the sound of blaster fire as her troops engaged the soldiers guarding the compound, but even that was far sparser than she had expected. Whatever garrison had once been here had been reduced to a mere skeleton crew—all the better for her. She scooted past a drop pod blocking the corridor, then rounded a corner and came within sight of the first living soul she'd encountered since making landfall. Readying her lightsaber, she stalked forth as the figure walked slowly towards her, moving from shadow into light.

"Oh-ho-ho..." The Sith let out a sarcastic laugh as she sheathed her saber, recognising her former slave. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" The Togruta continued to walk forward with slow, lumbering steps, her arms swinging loosely at her side. Vathamma stalked towards her and grabbed the woman by the collar. "Have you gone deaf?"

She shook the Togruta, but received no response beyond an empty stare that seemed to peer right through her.

"I'm talking to you!"

An explosion shook the compound, and Vathamma fell against the wall, taking the other woman with her. Flames shot around a turn in the hall ahead of them, coming from the direction Nomi had been staggering away from. Nomi slid to the ground, back against the wall and making no attempt to move as Vathamma pushed herself to her feet. Another explosion followed, this one larger, and with flames that shot within a dozen feet of the two woman. Vathamma winced against the blast of dry air, shielding her eyes and turning her back until the flames receded.

"Up!" she shouted at Nomi, hooking her hands under her armpits and dragging the Togruta away from the inferno quickly spreading in their direction. She pulled her down the hall, back towards the drop pod she had just passed. With no exit or escape in sight, she swung open the door and rolled Nomi into it, shoving her legs and limbs inside so that she could shut the door. As she ran around the pod she slammed down on the door, expecting to hear the _click _of the latch—but it never came.

She turned and saw the door creaking open, then ran back and slammed it shut. Again it drifted upwards, refusing to stay closed. She pounded on the door over and over, trying to wedge it shut, but it was no use. The explosions were growing louder, and the flames growing closer. The inside of the pod was small, nowhere near large enough for two people. Flames shot out at her, singing her flesh and catching the hem of her robe on fire. She clambered on top of the pod and wrapped her arms around it, pressing her cheek to the window and squeezing her eyes shut as a final explosion shattered the air, bathing her in light and heat.

* * *

Finally the complex ceased its deafening roar, a few low shudders passing through the damaged structure—but no more explosions. Torin threw the floor upward with a blast of force, pushing debris aside as he stood up from the crawl space. The hallway was half-collapsed, the path back to the warehouse he had fled blocked by melted girders and chunks of concrete. The lighting lining the halls was completely gone, but enough holes had been blown in the walls that he could see by the sunlight peeking its way in.

He shoved himself back up onto the floor, shouting out in pain as his hands touched hot concrete. Fires still raged out of control, and what hadn't caught flame within the base was melted or scorched beyond recognition. He needed to get back to the warehouse, and Isatryn—and he needed to not think about what ground zero of the explosion she had caused would look like. Not until he got there. As he ran through the complex he rounded a corner, and slid to a stop. The way was blocked, but not by debris.

Partially obstructing the hall was a drop pod, with a smoldering robed body laid atop it—some poor bastard who had just missed their chance at survival. He nearly ran right past, but with a single glance at the corpse's half-burnt face, his heart stopped and his knees locked tight. It was Vathamma, the right half of her face an unrecognizable mess of charred flesh. Most of her hair had been burnt clean off, and only one lidless eye remained in a lifeless stare directed at the viewport window her face was pressed to.

"No..." he muttered, reaching out with shaking hands to touch her shoulder. Her robe had been melted into her flesh, and she was almost too hot to touch.

"No, no, no..." As he looked her up and down in shock, ignoring the heat burning his hands as he held them to her, he saw that there _was _someone inside of the pod—Nomi. He slid his hands under Vathamma and lifted her up from the pod, choking back a sob of anguish as her melted flesh stuck to the hot metal. As he moved her body away, the pod door swung open, nearly striking him in the head. He set the Sith down and peered around the door. Nomi's chest moved with steady breaths, and her eyes were wide open. He didnt know what had been done to her mind, but her body was fine.

Torin knelt down beside Vathamma and put his hands on her cheeks, brushing aside what little of her jet-black hair remained.

"Please, please, please," he muttered, closing his eyes to focus on the Force within him. As his mind became still, he felt a spark within her, a flickering candle light that would be snuffed out with the slightest breeze. He focused his energy on that flame, giving up every last scrap of energy that remained within him and allowing it to flow into Vathamma. After what Ziare had done to him, there wasn't much to give—but he dug down deep, hollowing himself out until he was ready to collapse. Slowly but steadily the flame in his mind's eye grew in intensity, becoming a burning torch. Beneath his fingertips he felt something changing, but he dared not open his eyes and distract himself from the process. He was left dark, empty, his body bereft of the light that sustained it. Turning his mind back to Vathamma, he saw that steadily-burning torch flare into a fiery conflagration that blinded him with its intensity.

Then, with nothing left to give, he died.

* * *

Light Years away from Rishi, on another world, an ancient temple was abuzz with activity. Scientists and engineers milled about the hallways encircling the structure, laying heavy black tubing and hooking up power cables. All of them worked with a feverish intensity, not stopping for anything. Most of the work was centered on the chamber at the center of the pyramidal temple, where the workers had taken the innards of the Mass Shadow Generator after tearing it to pieces like a pack of hungry dogs. One trip into that room had been enough for Maliss. Even from here, with the weapon inactive, she could feel something deeply and profoundly _wrong _being cobbled together by the brainwashed engineers.

"Six one five nine..."

Ayahe tapped away at a computer terminal in front of Maliss, muttering to herself as she completed whatever calculations were necessary to get the weapon functional. Maliss didnt even try to understand what the girl—or indeed, _any _of them—were doing. They didnt seem to need management, either. Whatever Ziare had done to them, she had left them with enough of their own mind to complete their tasks. And complete their tasks they did—without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

The Twi'lek jerked violently, making the terminal rattle on the wheeled cart it sat atop. Maliss eyed her cautiously, watching as the girl's legs and arms shook like leaves in the wind.

"When's the last time you ate?"

The girl ignored her, completely focused on her work. Maliss walked up and grabbed her by the shoulder, but the girl tore out of her grip.

"Need to finish!" she shot back.

Maliss frowned and thought for a moment.

"You can't finish if you collapse, right?"

She held out a canteen in front of the girl, who gave it only the briefest of glances before snatching it from her and chugging the entire container, all the while continuing to type with one hand. As soon as it was empty she tossed it to the floor, water dribbling down her clenched jaw. Maliss held out a packet of wafer rations and waved them in front of her face, and Ayahe ate them with just as much urgency. Once she was finished she leaned over the terminal and worked with renewed vigor.

Maliss watched for a moment longer before turning away, rubbing her head and swearing under her breath as she made her way out of the temple for a breath of fresh air. The dense jungle of Yavin IV was alive with birds and rodents, sending up a horrible screeching raucous that covered the whole moon as night fell. Even with the noise she could feel her mind becoming clearer the further she moved away from the oppressive confines of the temple and its dark machinery.


	17. No Rest For The Weary

Ash still filled the evening sky above the Revanite compound when the scavengers first descended on it, coming from all over Rishi to pick over the remains like vultures. There wasn't much _left _to pick over, but some of the military hardware would have survived. That was what it was built for, after all. Those pieces could be sold to scrap merchants—or even straight to pirate groups, if a particularly intact bit of hardware was found.

One such scavenger, Ronga, had come to Rishi four years ago. The jungle planet was supposed to have served as his retirement home, but his love for the Pazaak tables—and his bad luck with the cards—had forced his entry back into the sweaty, back-breaking world of scavenging. Luckily, the Rodian had a nose for valuable finds, and Rishi had turned out to be a surprisingly lucrative salvage site. The planet did not have a long history behind it, but it did have a bloody one. Every few months, an armed group would force out another, leaving behind a battlefield full of armor, weapons, and vehicles. Once the site was safe he would jet out with the rest of the salvagers and take a look at what was left behind. Most of it was junk, but occasionally he would sniff out a particularly lucrative find that would fund another half-cycle of gambling losses.

Such thoughts were what occupied his mind as he clambered over rubble, careful to avoid the fires still burning here and there. Details on what had happened were scarce, but he had caught the gist of it—Republic and Empire, both fighting a third foe in orbit. That would not have been that interesting, if he hadn't heard the rumors surrounding the group inhabiting this particular compound. His fellow scavengers spoke of Force users, Jedi _and _Sith, coming and going alongside each other.

It sounded unbelievable, but the rumors were whispered in stunned confidence in every cantina in Raider's Cove. Now, those Force users were dead, buried under mountains of rubble, their belongings ripe for the picking. Blades of light and heat, artifacts millennia old, ancients computers capable of interfacing with the user's mind—he did not know much about the Sith or Jedi, but he knew enough for his long snout to twitch at the prospect of getting his hands on their prized possessions.

As Ronga walked across broken concrete slabs, he felt his muscles gripped by a burning weakness that made moving an exhausting exercise. Air still flowed through the respirator covering his mouth and nose, and the indicators on the belt-mounted filtration unit were showing green. More than some smoke seeping in, it felt as if the air he drew was simply not going where it was needed, like he could not possibly draw a deep enough breath to satisfy his body. Was age finally catching up to him?

He stumbled forward and leaned against a block of concrete jutting up from the debris, then felt a rumble pass through the entire structure. The ground trembled and shook, followed by a shifting of rocks up ahead. His body became weaker still, and he nearly fell over as an uproar of debris shook the collapsed building. A terrible groan followed, but not from the structure—this was _alive. _A dark hole formed in the shifting debris—then the darkness moved, clambering out of the wreckage like some wraith formed of the blackness of space. Air swirled around it as it crawled towards him. He tried to run, but his legs would not listen no matter how much his mind screamed at them to move.

Trails of energy snaked their way through the twisted rubble, converging on the creature and forming a skeleton in the midst of the blackened shape. First a skull with empty sockets pointed straight at Ronga, then sinewy arm muscles and a human face. He fell to his knees, and from the corners of his vision he could see every scavenger doing the same.

Fear wasn't what brought him to his knees—fear told him to run. This was death.

The figure pushed itself to its feet as it continued forward, the dark smear surrounding it dissipating to reveal a nude woman, who strode across the debris towards the scavengers' ships. As she passed Ronga, her hand brushed his shoulder. That icy touch was the last thing he felt.

* * *

The hours after Rishi were a confused blur, both for Vathamma and every other member of the Imperial fleet. From what little she could gather in the chaos that followed her rescue from the ruins of the Revanite compound, saboteurs on the Imperial and Republic fleets had been subdued after a transmission was sent out to both factions, identifying the traitors. With the signal jammer destroyed—she still had yet to find out precisely _how— _the Revanite fleet had been forced to flee the battle.

Faced with this new enemy that had nearly destroyed them both, the leaders of the other two fleets had met on Rishi and agreed to set aside their animosities, at least for the time being. Vathamma, along with many other Sith, had been ordered back to Vaiken Spacedock by Darth Marr. From there they would regroup and figure out how to deal with the Revanites.

It was a reality Vathamma herself was still trying to come to grips with. Cipher Nine had been right—the conspiracy was real. Revan—or more likely, an impostor—had built up the once-defunct group into a force that had mustered enough ships to challenge the Empire _and _Republic on the field of battle. This changed many things, but her plan was still salvageable. All she needed to do was find Marr in this chaos, and tell him that she was the one who had destroyed the signal jammer on Rishi. He would undoubtedly have other questions, such as why she hadn't alerted him to the Revanite danger before.

A floating hub in between Dromund Kaas and Korriban, Vaiken was a nexus of trade and a staging area for fleet movements, and as such always had a fleet in standby outside. Now, however, it was busier than ever. Several battle groups sat in space around the spaceport, many ships simply too large to dock. As soon as Vathamma's cruiser arrived outside, she took a shuttle to the docking bay and ordered the wounded to be taken to the station's medical center. Her ship had been far from the fighting, so there were only two of them—and neither had sustained their injuries aboard the ship.

The interior of the station was no less busy in the outside. The usual crowds were bolstered by Imperial military and government officials, all dealing with the chaos in their own way. Vathamma's business lay in the Imperial embassies, where she had been summoned to meet with Darth Marr. They lay at the center of the spacedock, a multi-level station within a station with offices for all the major players, Imperial Intelligence among them. When she arrived, she wasn't surprised to see the offices in an uproar—until she noticed Intelligence personnel being led out in handcuffs, some of them her own hand-picked agents.

"What is going on here?" she shouted at an armored trooper as he led an agent away. No one would answer her, and she eventually resorted to grabbing an officer by the scruff of his collar and making her unhappiness felt.

"I _demand _to know what's going on!"

The officer gently pulled her hand away. "Darth Crucia?" he said.

"Yes! Now explain this!"

The man pointed inside the ministry offices. "Darth Marr is waiting for you in the conference room, my Lady."

She blanched and stepped back, steadying herself before putting on a confident face and striding inside the office she'd been directed towards. There, she was met by someone—but not Darth Marr. Lana Beniko, ex-advisor to Darth Arkous, was standing beside a table that ran down the center of the room, with Cipher Nine leaned up against the wall behind her.

"You!" Vathamma shouted at Beniko. "What is this?"

Vathamma turned to see Darth Marr stomping towards her, still wearing the full-body armor he had donned for the battle over Rishi. The Sith Lord always looked to be on a warpath, but now more than ever she didnt want to be the one standing in his way. He stopped in front of her and tore a gilded epaulet from her shoulder.

"Embezzling ministry funds!" he shouted, tossing her mark of rank to the floor. "Ignoring the Revanite threat!" He grabbed the other shoulderpad and threw it down as well. "Abandoning a battle in progress to save your idiot Apprentice!"

Vathamma stared at him aghast. "Is that what they told you?" She pointed at Beniko and Cipher Nine. "They're traitors!"

"You mismanaged the ministry to such a degree that your agent felt it necessary to ignore the chain of command," Marr growled. "The Empire nearly suffered its worst defeat in _decades _because you ignored the warnings brought to you by your agents!"

Beniko crossed her arms and flashed the briefest hint of a smile. "Cipher Nine and I were able to disable the jammer and transmit a list of Revanite saboteurs to both fleets. It seems you got caught up in the chaos."

"I—" Vathamma started.

The other woman raised an eyebrow. "You what?"

Vathamma fell silent. What could she say? That _she _had gone to the surface to disable the jammer? That her intent had been to save the Imperial fleet only after letting it fall into a trap? In Marr's eyes, that would be worse than the simple incompetence she was being accused of.

"Now Revan has fled to Yavin IV to make his final stand." Marr looked down and rubbed the side of his helmet.

"Well, that's good!" Vathamma looked between him and Beniko. "If they're contained to the moon, it's only a matter of time—"

Marr shot her a look so intense she could feel it. "It's only a matter of _time _until he resurrects the Emperor!"

Vathamma swallowed, trying to comprehend what she'd heard. "The Emperor is dead?"

"That information does not leave this room," said Beniko. Vathamma nearly snapped back at her for the presumptuousness of her words, but thought better of doing so in front of Marr.

"If your blundering allows the Emperor to once again assume a corporeal form, you will have doomed the entire galaxy."

"I don't understand," said Vathamma.

Beniko let out a dismissive _hmmph. _"I suspect you never will."

"An... _alliance of necessity _has been formed with the Republic to deal with this threat," said Marr. Vathamma thought she must have been hearing a bad joke. Darth Marr was a warrior who had spent the better part of his life fighting the Republic. For him to speak of diplomatic necessities and truces, the situation must have been truly serious. "Our first forces have begun to deploy on Yavin IV. With Revan already on the moon, time is not on our side."

"You have to pull those troops back!" Vathamma held her hands out in warning. "The Revanites possess the Mass Shadow Generator, and plan to use it on Yavin IV! I'm sure of it!"

Cipher Nine and Beniko both groaned, the latter rolling her eyes.

"I'm beginning to doubt it existed in the first place," said the Chiss agent.

"And you will bet our forces on that?" Vathamma shot back.

"Enough!" Marr shouted. "They are not _your _forces. Effective immediately, you are no longer the director of Imperial Intelligence."

Vathamma's hands clenched into fists. "You can't do this!" she shouted at Marr. "You're not _Emperor! _The Dark Council will have a say in this!"

"They already _have," _he said.

Beniko smirked. "They thought it wise to place the Empire's intelligence apparatus in more _youthful _hands."

"You have no friends on the council, and no allies left." Marr lowered his voice to a measured whisper. "It is only in light of your past deeds that I do not have you _executed _for abandoning the field of battle. Now _leave, _before I change my mind."

She seethed silently, shooting Beniko a hostile glance before storming out of the room and departing the embassy complex to make her way to the station hospital.

* * *

It's a strange thing, to be well and truly dead. There's a glow, lighting up the void from to bottom—and a smell, like someone let dust collect for too long. There's nothing to do, though. And no one to do it. Only a clear awareness, neither good nor bad, forever.

Well, forever for some. For others, death is a time out—a waiting room. And even if there's no one to act, occasionally something happens, like a flash of lightning and crack of thunder that shatters the stillness. It was with that shock that Torin became aware of himself. He was a person again, dragged down through the depths and thrown upside down to find himself staring at the back of his eyelids. His back seized and he shot upright, eyes snapping open as air flooded his lungs. Everything came back at once, inside and out. He was alive, seated on a bed in a spacious hospital room with an opaque window running along the wall a ways to his left.

His head settled back down to the pillow as he let out a ragged sigh. He would have stayed asleep longer, if he'd had any say in the matter. The moment he awoke, he knew—Isatryn was gone. People often spoke about a hole being left behind in their hearts when a loved one passed. For a Force user, that feeling was more literal than most. He didn't love her—not like _that, _at least—but he knew by the shape of the gaping hole that remained what it was he had lost.

A friend. An ally. Someone who could have fled to the far reaches of the galaxy, but against her better judgment had followed him to Rishi.

Then, his palms grew sweaty as he felt a familiar presence nearby—though not the one he was busy grieving. It was Vathamma. His heart began to race, and he swallowed as he pressed his head back to the bed and tried to resist the urge to glance towards her. He wouldn't be able to see anything, anyway—not through the one-way window. The presence grew fainter, and his body relaxed as he felt her move away from his room. No doubt she had seen that he was awake. As for what she was going to do with him, he could only guess.

As he wondered, his mind turned to the other person who had been with him when he had collapsed. If Nomi were alive—and he had no reason to think she wasn't—there was a good chance she would be here, wherever _here _was. A detention facility, a prison hospital, who knew. The thought occurred to him that he could be aboard Vathamma's ship, but he couldn't feel the distinct rumble one could detect aboard any vessel if they focused hard enough.

With a grimace that was more discomfort than pain he slid the IV out of his arm and tossed it to the floor, along with a bundle of electrodes stuck to his chest. Once free he stumbled out of bed and over to a wall closet and pulled out a bag filled with the clothes they had found him in. His shoes were gone, and considering they had actually bothered packing up his tattered shirt, he could only guess at what horrible condition the boots had been in.

With only his burnt pants and hospital smock as clothing he went to the door and examined the controls. The window would be shatter-proof, but there was a chance he could get the door open with a few minutes of tampering.

Indeed, only a few _seconds. _The door was unlocked, and opened from the inside with a simple press of a button. That should have been a welcome event, but it aroused his suspicion to new heights. Did the Sith _want _him out of his room? Was this some plan of hers? The thought seemed paranoid, but he had learned to think several steps ahead, especially when dealing with his former Master.

Still, his options were limited to a chance at escape or certain imprisonment. Faced with those choices, he quickly scanned the hallway outside before darting through the doorway and stepping quietly down the corridor, moving the way he had seen Vathamma go. As he reached a corner and peeked around, he saw her round another turn past a hall full of windowed rooms. Two doctors were walking in opposite directions, both with their noses buried in handheld datapads. Ordinarily he could have walked confidently past them and allayed any suspicion with a few Force-laden words of persuasion—but if these doctors were taught to resist such tricks, that could go badly for him.

He waited until both doctors disappeared into separate rooms, then hurried down the hall past the one-way windows that kept him hidden from any wandering eyes. Halfway to the next corner, he heard a door open and slid to a stop. A woman in a white, high-collared doctor's coat was standing in a doorway to his left, eyebrow raised curiously. He stared at her, unsure of what to do. His first instinct was to throw her back into the room and take off running, but he managed to resist that impulse long enough for her to speak.

"Are you alright?" Her eyes moved down to his burnt pants and bare feet.

He swallowed. "Yes."

She remained silent for a moment, then edged past him into the hall. "Alright, then."

The woman continued off down the hall, leaving him alone and confused. Not wanting to wait around for another encounter—one that might not go as smoothly—he jogged down the hall to the corner Vathamma had rounded. Another set of rooms lay ahead, with the Sith nowhere to be seen—but he could feel her. She was near.

He walked past the windowed rooms, looking into each for her or Nomi. They were all occupied, most of the beds filled with what looked to be Imperial soldiers—none were chained to their beds or otherwise subdued, like they would be if these were prisoners of war.

A clapping sound came from up ahead, and he saw the back of Vathamma's hairbun peaking out from the edge of an open doorway. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, arriving just in time to stop the door from closing behind the Sith as she entered the room. Using the Force he kept it open a few inches, just enough to allow him to press himself into the doorway alcove and peak into the room. Vathamma was clapping slowly, and walking towards a bed at the center of the room. It wasn't until she pulled up a stool and sat down that he saw the room's bed-ridden occupant—it was Nomi.

"Oh, stop it. I know you're awake," said the Sith.

Nomi cracked open her eyes and glared at her. "Where are we?"

"Vaiken Spacedock."

The Togruta pushed herself up in the bed. "What happened? I remember Torin—"

"Oh he's fine. Even after you abandoned him, it seems he'll come running from halfway across the galaxy as soon as you find yourself in trouble." The Sith leaned in towards the other woman. "How lucky for you."

Nomi eyed her warily. "What will you do with us?"

"You will be exiled from Imperial space."

"Exiled?" Nomi echoed. It might have sounded like a harsh sentence to some, but the implications were far gentler than the imprisonment or execution Torin had imagined. "You are letting him go?"

"I am not _letting him go. _I am washing my hands of you two. Whether you intended it or not, your hatred of me has rubbed off on him."

"I did not always hate you." Vathamma remained silent, and Nomi looked up at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. "I could have been sent to the brothels as a child—then a Sith Lord comes to that auction and chooses me to serve them? I thought that was so amazing. And I thought you, too, were amazing." She sunk her head down into her pillow. "Then your first Apprentice was killed, and every year you got meaner."

The Sith forced a laugh. "I was always mean."

"Not always. Not like this. The things you did—to him, to me—they are horrible."

"They were." Vathamma stared down at her open palms in her lap. "But tell me, what would you do? If you were being... _cuckolded _by your former slave, for weeks on end, with only a ship wall separating you?"

Torin could only guess at what expression the Sith wore. Nomi shuffled awkwardly in the bed, avoiding meeting the Sith's eyes. As she did so, the Togruta's gaze seemed to connect with Torin's. He pulled back from the cracked door, returning a moment later to see her once again looking at the Sith. Whether she had spotted him, he couldn't be sure.

"You _told _me—you said 'make him fall in love with you'."

Vathamma nodded. "I know."

"Then you decided you want him for yourself?"

"I suppose so."

"And _now _you tell me to take him away from you again?"

Vathamma looked down at her hands as she fiddled with them in her lap. "If my Apprent—" She sighed and waved her hand. "—If Torin wants to get himself killed chasing after you, he's free to do so. I just hope you... _appreciate _what you have."

Nomi raised an eyebrow. "What I have?"

"Love. Selfless love. How nice that must be."

Both the Sith and Togruta remained silent for a time, and Torin stepped away from the door for a moment while two doctors passed, eyeing him curiously as he stood in the door alcove.

"Why lie? Why manipulate? Why do you play your mind games?"

The Sith looked away and shrugged. "It got me everything else I wanted."

"But not this."

"Yes, well..." She looked upwards. "I can see that now."

"Did you try simply _telling _him? Even once?"

Vathamma scoffed. "It comes so easily to you, doesn't it?"

Nomi sat upright and leaned towards her. "After everything you did, I want to hear you say it."

The two glared at each other for a few moments, and the Sith broke first.

"I love him," she murmured.

Nomi's lips twitched, her mouth contorting until her cheeks bloated outward as she tried to contain a laugh.

"Yes, 'ha-ha', the mean old woman loves someone." Vathamma looked from her hands back to Nomi, who let out an amused snort. "I guess the joke is on me."

Nomi sat back in bed, letting out a lilting laugh to the ceiling as she pulled the blankets back up her body. Finally having endured more abuse than she could take, Vathamma shot up from the stool and cocked her hand back.

"You think I won't slap you just because you're in a hospital bed?" She grabbed Nomi by the collar, and the Togruta pointed past her to the door Torin lurked behind.

Vathamma paused, looking at Nomi's pointing hand, then spun around and threw the door open with the Force, making Torin fall back onto his butt. As he rolled over onto all fours, she quickly walked over and helped him to his feet.

"What are you doing out of your room?" she exclaimed, trying to pull him out of the hallway.

He shot a fearful glance at Nomi and backed away. "Not here," he whispered, taking Vathamma with him as he left the room. The Sith didnt seem to understand, but followed anyway. He didnt quite get it either, but somehow he feared seeing Nomi more than the Sith he had half-expected to have him in chains when we awoke.

The door shut behind them, and Nomi scanned the one-way window in confusion as Torin leaned up against it for support.

"Why don't we sit down?" she said.

He nodded and she walked alongside him, holding a hand just behind his back as if he had a force field keeping her from closing that last fraction of an inch between them. They sat down in a row of chairs at the end of the hall, leaving a seat empty between them. Vathamma cleared her throat, crossing first one robed leg, then the other, before putting both feet on the floor and folding her hands in her lap. Undoubtedly she was wondering how much he had heard—but his questions were more urgent than hers.

"What happened on Rishi?" he said.

"That's... a very long story. The short of it is that neither the Empire nor Republic one. A third party revealed themselves, but were forced to flee after their signal jammer was destroyed."

"I thought I died," he mused aloud.

"You did."

He looked at her in surprise. "Then how—"

She held a finger up and shot a small bolt of electricity into the air. "I restarted your heart."

"Oh." He looked back forward and swallowed. "Thanks."

"I thought I was a dead woman, as well. Then I awoke without a scratch on me." She leaned forward and peered into his face. "I wonder how that happened?"

"I don't remember much."

"Do you remember what you were doing there in the first place?"

He hesitated for a moment—but only a moment. Any reason to hold back was long gone, and he had been close to deliberately putting her on Ziare's trail before Nomi had called him.

"Ziare brainwashed Nomi... mind-controlled her..." He shook his head and sighed. "I got a call from Nomi saying that the Mass Shadow Generator was on Rishi—it wasn't. Ziare was."

"And now she's dead?"

"I'd like to think that, but I _know _she isn't."

"That explosion levelled the entire compound. The only survivors are _here." _Vathamma gestured at Nomi's room and laughed, stifling it when she remembered the Falleen whom Torin had entered the base with.

"You didn't see the things she could do. She's not human."

"Whatever she is, she will be dealt with. The Revanites have been cornered on Yavin IV."

He pushed down on the sides of his seat as if to stand. "I'll—" He trailed off, unsure of _what _he had been about to say. That he would chase after Ziare himself? Each time he tried, he suffered greater losses than the time before.

"Your part in this is over. Imperial Intelligence will find her."

He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared down at the tiled floor. "I don't know why I thought I could do this on my own."

She patted him on the shoulder awkwardly, then quickly withdrew her hand.

"If you felt you could not call on me, I may be partly to blame."

He glanced over at her in surprise. Her face was all twisted up, as if she were listening to nails scraping on metal. Apologies clearly did not come easy to her.

"I should not have... _forced _myself on you." Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. He might have felt bad for her, if he weren't already agonizing over how awkward their conversation had become. "And I should not have led you to believe that you forced yourself on me."

He glanced over at her and rubbed his knees, but did not speak. Another 'Thank you' almost left his lips, but he held it back.

"Well... I suppose that's all." She swallowed and avoided looking over at him. "Goodbye, then." With another stiff pat on the shoulder and a touch that lingered a moment longer than necessary, she shot up from her chair and strode off in a flurry of robes.

A few hours after Vathamma left, an aide from Imperial Intelligence came by with a duffel bag of clean clothes and supplies, a credit chit with enough cash to get him halfway across the galaxy, and directions to the spacedock's commercial bay. Physically, Nomi was in even better shape than Torin, and both were allowed to sign themselves out after one last cursory look over by station physicians. There was a war on, and they were more than happy to get beds freed up for the wounded.

The station's docking bays were as busy as any planetary spaceport—busier, in fact. With a war on and galactic borders constantly changing, stations like Vaiken spacedock had become hubs of civilian activity, midpoints for refugees fleeing war torn planets and adventurers seeking fame and fortune. Torin felt more like the former than the latter as he shoved through the teeming masses swarming to and from the docking bays ringing the port's outer hall. Before, when he wore the garb of a Sith, he would have received fearful looks and a wide berth. Now, wearing a simple cloth shirt and carrying a bag at his side, he was getting jostled as much as any of the other thousand nobodies filling the port. A year ago, the Togruta walking alongside him would have been assumed to be his slave. Now she was a wife, or a girlfriend, or a friend.

To him, she felt like a stranger. At one point he'd feared her being pulled from his grasp, but it wasn't outside forces trying to split them apart—it was Nomi, trying to escape. When they'd first met, he'd latched onto her and hadn't let go. First, he had convinced himself it was love at first sight. Then, it was a way to feel normal in a strange and dangerous world. Finally, he realized the truth. She had been another way for him to feel special. Someone with no one and nothing to call her own, who would love him as long as he treated her like a living being with thoughts and feelings instead of just a slave.

Maybe she had used him, too.

The crowds began to thin, and Torin saw a glowing sign up ahead jutting out of the wall, marking their docking bay. He slowed his walk, and Nomi glanced at him before taking the bag from his hand. He stopped and she stepped in front of him before setting the bag down. Despite the long silence that had built between them, there was only one thing he felt he truly felt he still needed to tell her.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be. It was fun, right?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

She pushed down on his shoulders, and he bent his knees, staying still as she planted a kiss on his cheek. With that she withdrew, walking to the docking bay with a steady stride and the bag clutched firmly in her strong hand. Passengers swarmed out of the halls in between him and her, filling in the empty space until she disappeared from view. She'd lived most of her life as an accessory—a slave, a servant, a lover. Now, wherever she ended up, good or bad, her life would at least be her own.

Well, not until her former Master's credit card ran dry. With that last amusing thought he turned and headed back towards the center of the station.

Finding Vathamma proved more difficult than expected—the place was like a city unto itself. Torin first went to the Imperial embassies, only to find the complex nearly empty. Eventually he was able to find out from an administrative assistant what had happened—Darth Crucia was no longer the director of Imperial Intelligence. 'Out with the old, in with the new,' the secretary said as she watched armored troopers wheeling out server racks and data storage cubes.

After some pressing—the old fashioned kind, no Force powers needed—the assistant revealed that she had done the Sith one last favor before her ignominious departure from the embassies after a heated meeting with Darth Marr. The Sith had given her a code for an item in the station's labyrinthine vaults and had asked for its location. No name, description, or statement of what she was looking for.

Torin made his way to the bowels of the station, the halls growing emptier the deeper he went. Eventually he came to a military checkpoint staffed by two helmeted soldiers keeping watch over an elevator door, and one moved to stop him. Only then did Torin remember that he was dressed like any of a thousand civilians wandering the station.

"Hold it right there." The guard swaggered in front of him, and Torin got the distinct impression that this trooper's station didn't give him many opportunities to flex what little power he had. "You get lost?"

Many personnel—Imperial and otherwise—were taught to resist Force persuasion. With no way to know if these two had been given special training, he opted to take a subtler approach and used the Force to lift the man's comm link off of his belt.

"If you're going to keep my Master waiting for me, we should let her know I'll be delayed."

The guard swore under his breath, scrambling to shove his hovering communicator back into its holster as his companion backed away slowly.

"Go right ahead, my Lord." He gestured to the door and shuffled back behind his desk. "Shit, shit," he muttered to himself, sitting down and trying to make himself look as small as possible in his chair.

Torin walked to the elevator and waited a few moments for it to arrive, resisting the urge to breathe a sigh of relief until the doors were closed behind him. The lift shot down in a smooth descent, arriving seconds later at the only other floor it went to, a basement level at the bottom of the station. It opened up into a broad corridor, with brightly-lit storage tubes embedded into drab walls, giving the space the look of a honeycomb. One of the tubes had been slid out and the cap on the end opened—and beside it stood Vathamma, bent over with her back turned to Torin as she dragged a heavy-looking sphere across the floor with a horrible metal screech.

"Rock bottom _does _have a nice view," he shouted out to her.

She stopped and glanced back at him, then kept moving the sphere. "You're supposed to be gone."

"You're not my Master anymore, remember?" She didnt respond, and he walked closer to her. "They said you're out of a job."

"I am between opportunities, yes."

"So where are you taking that thing?"

She stood up straight and arched her back, massaging her tired muscles. "Believe it or not, I am a patriot. I will save the Empire from that Jedi's madness, accolades or no."

"I don't think she's much of a Jedi anymore." He went over to help her move the sphere, but she pulled his hand away and shot him a stern look.

"Enough! I thought I made it clear that you were free to go where you wish."

"You did." He gestured outward with his arms. "And here I am."

She stared at him in silence, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, until a strange sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh escaped her throat.

Torin leaned away and looked the strangely shuddering woman up and down. "Are you crying?"

"No!" She looked down and rubbed her sleeve across her eyes.

Hiding a smirk, he bent down to lift the sphere up by the handle on top. As soon as he stood back up, he realized why Vathamma had been holding it by the sides. The circular lid had snapped off, leaving the top of the sphere exposed. His look of sheepish embarrassment turned to horror as he saw what he had just opened. The inside of the orb was filled with a mix of electronics and a writhing mass of pink gelatin, as if some sick creature had vomited up its innards inside the machine.

"Be careful!" Vathamma snapped at him. "Do you want it to catch ill?" She snatched the lid from him and screwed it back on, running her fingers along the rim to make sure the seal was airtight.

"Want _what _to catch ill?" he stammered. "What the hell is that?"

"One of Darth Jadus' early prototypes for the Eradicator series of orbital weaponry." She rolled the thing onto its side, showing him a circular lens on the bottom. "It's been sitting down here, switched off, so it hasn't hatched yet. But it can still be of use."

"Hatched?" he wondered, still trying to figure out if it was a creature or a machine. "Are they going to let you drag that thing out of here?"

"Good point." She swiveled it around so that she was face-to-face with the lens. "Watcher Eye in the sky," she said, enunciating each syllable.

Torin got the impression something was supposed to happen, but the object remained as motionless as ever.

Vathamma frowned. "Watcher _Eye _in the _sky!" _She shook the orb violently, with no response from the machine. Gripping it tight with the tips of her fingers, she shot a surge of electricity through the sphere. An electronic whine followed, and repulsor jets on the bottom roared to life, sending the sphere shooting up into the air. It flew around the room, smashing into shelves and scraping against the wall until Vathamma used the Force to pull it back to her.

"Keep that up, and I will deactivate you." The Eye stopped resisting her pull, and spun about so that it looked at her with its glass eye, the lens focusing like a camera shutter. "If you help me, I will release you from your programming."

The machine didnt react, and Torin wondered if it understood Basic—or if it could hear them at all.

"Do you understand?"

Still nothing—but at least it was no longer smashing up the room. Vathamma walked forward and leaned into its eye.

"Go to docking bay 15, and wait," she said slowly and clearly. "Do not let anyone see you."

That got a response. The Eye shot across the room, smashing straight through a screen covering a ventilation shaft. Torin could hear the machine barreling through the ductwork, the sound growing more distant until it disappeared completely.

"Alright, great." He turned back to Vathamma. "Now what about getting to Yavin IV?"

"That will be difficult. A blockade has been established around the moon. Nothing gets in or out."

"But you _do _have a plan?"

"I have a _plan— _She held her hands out and spoke in halting words. "—To concoct a way... to get us to Yavin IV."

"That's not a plan. That's just you, thinking. I _do _have a plan—but we're going to have to make a stop on the way there."

* * *

Yavin 4, once a moon tread only by spirits and the occasional foolish grave robber, had become a battlefield. The Revanites had fled there after there defeat by the combined Imperial and Republic fleets, landing what ships they could and leaving the capital vessels to make a final stand in orbit. That shield was broken within hours, and the newly forged Alliance of Empire and Republic proceeded to flood the moon with troops, determined to finish off Revan and his mortally wounded cult.

_Why _Revan had fled to Yavin IV of all places, Maliss had no idea—and with her sole company being brainwashed scientists, she had no one whom she could ask. Nevertheless, she felt a surge of excitement as she stood in the vine-covered stone plaza outside the temple, watching ships descend from the blockade that had been set up in high orbit. The scientists who had labored over the project within the temple stood idle with her, unsure of what to do now that they'd fulfilled Ziare's commands.

All the players had arrived, just as Ziare had promised—except for the Jedi herself. She should have come with the first of the Revanites, but days had passed with no sight of the woman. As Maliss listened to the faint buzz of ships in the distance, one of them became louder, more distinct, turning into a deafening roar as an Imperial shuttle shot across the treetops and descended on the temple plaza. Maliss ran for cover, pulling her blaster from its holster as she ducked behind one of the pillars ringing the space. The bodies of two Imperial troopers rolled down the ramp as it lowered, falling to the stone ground in a clatter of armor. Ziare followed, wearing the gray uniform of an Imperial Officer. Her eyes were narrowed and brow furrowed in a furious scowl, and Maliss sped over to meet her.

"Where have you been?" the Mandalorian said.

As Ziare drew closer, Maliss noticed something was very wrong. The Jedi's flesh was cracking and burning, her skin sloughing off in smoldering chunks at a frightening pace and repairing itself just as quickly—she looked as if she were coming apart.

"Is it ready?" Ziare looked around at the assembled scientists. "Where is the Twi'lek girl?"

"She said she was finished, so I sent her off-world."

The Jedi stared up at Maliss and frowned more deeply than ever, then grabbed the Mandalorian by the arm. Even through her thick armor, she immediately felt the effect of the Jedi's touch—a cold sweat gripped her and nausea washed over her body, like death itself had wrapped its claws around her.

"Did I tell you to do that?" Ziare fumed. Unable to bear any more of the woman's touch, Maliss pulled free of her grip and Ziare winced in pain, her legs buckling as she took in strained breaths.

"What is it?" Maliss reached out, but did not touch her—she was afraid to.

Ziare held up a hand and turned it around in front of her own face, watching as her skin flaked off in fiery bits of orange and yellow like the embers of a waning fire. She took a deep breath in through her nose and stood up straight, then thrust her hands outward towards the waiting Scientists. Energy flowed from them to her, and one by one the dessicated husks that remained collapsed to the ground. Whatever sickness had been wracking her body ceased—for now, at least—and her innumerable wounds closed up as if they'd never been there.

"Gods..." Ziare squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed the sides of her head. "It's not enough." Her eyes snapped open and she shot forward, grabbing Maliss by the arm. The Mandalorian froze, terrified that she was about to end up like the men and women behind her. She'd long ago prepared to meet her maker, but not like this—not like those poor bastards.

"How long?" said the Jedi.

Maliss stammered over her words until she realized what Ziare was talking about. "Hours," she said with a hasty shrug and a glance back at the temple. "The drill will reach the core in a few hours. The rest happens after that."

"I've waited this long. I can wait a few hours more." Ziare unwound her fingers from Maliss' arm. "Do you love me?"

The wind rustled through the jungle in a whisper, like a death rattle, and Maliss realized that she could not hear the birds anymore.

"Yes." She'd never told a bigger lie in her life.

"Then you will protect that weapon with your life. Once this is over, all this suffering, all these dead..." Ziare scanned the plaza of dead scientists. "They will be meaningless—and _we _will be together more completely than you can imagine." She reached out to touch Maliss face, but the Mandalorian drew away—not that Ziare seemed to care.

"You're talkin' like you won't be stickin' around."

"No," said Ziare. "I have an Emperor to consume."


	18. What Rough Beast

With Vathamma's cruiser impounded and her privileges as a Sith Lord in question, the only ship available to her and Torin was the shuttle she had taken from her flagship to Vaiken spacedock. They weren't going to be allowed through to Yavin IV, and that ship certainly wasn't going to break the blockade that the newly-forged Alliance had set up around it. What they needed was one that could—and Torin knew just where to find one.

So they returned to Rishi, a planet still reeling from the orbital battle that had nearly led two fleets to ruin. Torin spent the entirety of the trip there avoiding the Sith within the small confines of the cramped shuttle while he mulled over what he had overheard at Vaiken Memorial Hospital.

He had already resolved himself to not make excuses for her anymore, but at the same time he couldn't ignore what he had seen and heard. Maybe Vathamma's particular brand of 'love' wasn't as selfish as he'd thought it was. Maybe she cared for Nomi as much as someone who grows up among monsters can care for a slave.

The first time he had jetted around the galaxy with her, she was a looming presence, dropping into his room to say or do something to put him on edge before departing just as swiftly. Now, she seemed to be making herself as small a figure as possible, keeping to the shuttle cockpit while Torin slumped back on a bench in the cargo bay.

Maybe she _had _changed—he certainly had. But it didnt change a thing when it came to their mission. He wasn't so cynical to believe that people never changed, but he wasn't so foolish as to think they could become entirely new people. She was still the same woman who had nearly crippled him when he stood between her and power. It wasn't a choice he would let her make again.

When they reached Rishi, locating Isatryn's wayward ship turned out to be a bit more complicated than simply reclaiming it from the docking bay. Raider Cove's starport was a busy travel hub, and the docking manager was in no mood to let a ship take up a pad for a minute longer than was paid for—especially when that ship could be sold off for a hefty fee. With the owners presumed dead in a battle Rishi's inhabitants still hadn't quite wrapped their head around, it seemed like free credits for the dock manager.

At least until Vathamma showed up with her 'Apprentice' in tow.

"You _sold _Imperial property?" she shouted at the man in the midst of a busy starport hall, jabbing a finger in his chest while he cowered down, buckling at the knees until he was as short as her. Any person the galaxy over knew to fear—or at least respect—the distinctive red skin and face tendrils of a pureblood Sith. The pirates of Rishi were especially keen to give them a wide berth, after the Imperial Fleet had brought the hammer down on them only a week ago.

As they were able to gather from the man and his stammered excuses, the ship hadn't even left the starport yet. The manager had tried to get into it, failed, then ordered his mechanics to try and break open the rear ramp. When _that _hadn't worked, he'd simply had it dragged off the pad to a storage space and sold it to an off-world buyer without ever discovering what it was capable of.

The two Sith made their way to the nearby warehouse and ordered it hauled back out while the brow-beaten manager bemoaned his loss. From the sound of it, he'd already lost half his proceeds to Rishi's Pazaak tables and their many card sharps. What he would tell his soon-to-arrive buyer was his problem.

Soon the pair were off-world again, leaving the docking manager a complimentary shuttle in their wake. Not out of any generosity, but from a single-minded focus on getting to where they needed to be—Yavin IV. The detour was a necessary one, and it had paid off. Now, they could slip through the moon's blockade unnoticed. But that didnt stop Torin from hating every second of it.

He wanted this to be over—all of it. Vathamma seemed to share his impatience, but not for the same reason. She was looking forward to the battle. Not in giddy expectation, but in a stoic acceptance of finishing what she had set out to do. Despite the age she had on Torin, she lacked the clinging weariness he couldn't seem to shed. That, he admired about her.

Then, there was the other reason he had hated being back on Rishi, and hated being back on the stealth ship even more—its former owner. He'd gotten her caught up in a battle that was all his own, and she had paid the price. If he had someone to unload his feelings on, they might—if they were feeling generous enough—lay on some platitudes about how it wasn't his fault, that he shouldn't beat himself up for it.

It _was _his fault. He owned that, but he was done beating himself up over it. There was a woman on Yavin IV for him to share his pain with, and this time he would cut her down until she stopped moving. Despite all that pain and all that regret, he'd yet to give a moment of concern to having the Sith alongside him when he confronted her.

It wasn't because he didnt care about what happened to Vathamma. It was because the idea of him dragging _her _along anywhere was laughable. If she was there, it was because she wanted to be. She was selfish, but on some level that selfishness allowed him not to worry.

That, and her mastery of the Force.

A few minutes after the jump to hyperspace taking them from Rishi to Yavin, Torin silently excused himself from the bridge and went back to the ship's sole bedroom. The bed was a mess and the desk still had a half-eaten ration pack cracked open on top of it. It was like the Falleen had never left.

Torin sat down on the bed, and felt a sharp _crack _under him.

"Shit," he muttered, standing up and fishing around under the bedding for whatever he had just sat on. He pulled out a datapad, the one he had seen Isatryn using during their short time together on the ship. That reminder of his failure was painful enough—and it grew worse when he saw what was displayed on the cracked screen.

A flowing field of orange grass beneath a violet sky, with thick bald trees that sprung up from the savannah. He recognized the scenery immediately—it was home. He had only mentioned Tinnel IV to Isatryn once. She had called it a backwater shithole—or something to that effect.

He closed the holonet window, only to find another picture of the same planet. Then another, and another. Tears welling in his eyes, he opened the browser history and scrolled through a long list of searches, all for his home planet.

A knock came at the door. He couldn't even think of responding. Pressing the edge of the datapad to his forehead, he leaned over and shut his eyes, biting his lip and squeezing the computer until the crack in the screen deepened and the display went black.

The door opened, and he heard the awkward shuffle of footsteps as Vathamma wavered between whether or not she should enter.

"May I come in?"

He didnt say a word, keeping his tear-stained face pointed at his feet with the datapad held in front of it. Either she mistook his quaking for a slight nod, or she got tired of waiting. She entered, then took a seat beside him on the bed. After what felt like a full minute he calmed himself enough to speak.

"I don't know if I can do this." He was surprised at how weak the words sounded when they came out. "Last time there were four of us. Now it's just you and me. Everyone's dead, or left, or on the other side—"

He ran out of breath, and took in a ragged lungful of air.

"Is it me?" He lowered the datapad and looked up, no longer bothering to hide his bleary eyes. "Do I turn things bad just by being around them?"

Vathamma leaned back on the bed. "Yes. You are cursed. I figured it out only recently."

"Cursed?"

She got up from the bed and stood in front of him, then put her hands on his shoulders. "You attract monsters, and make them mortal again. Sometimes, they turn back into monsters." She cast a glance at the broken datapad. "And unfortunately, mortals die more easily than monsters."

"I didnt say you were a monster."

"Oh, but I can be, sometimes." She drummed her fingers on his shoulders and looked aside thoughtfully. "You wondered why you didnt see my betrayal coming?"

It was a question he had asked himself over and over.

"All my life, I only wanted one thing. Then, I came to know you, and I found something else I wanted. The universe forced me to make a choice." She grasped his cheeks and tilted his face up to hers. "I chose wrong."

The declaration was sober, almost placid. This wasn't an emotional outburst of the moment. It was something she had mulled over for a long time.

She wrapped her hands around his head and pulled him into her bosom. "I'm sorry. For everything."

They were words he'd been waiting forever to hear. But somehow, hearing them brought him anger more than catharsis.

"You say this now?" he mumbled into her robes. "When we both might die?"

She let go of his head and stepped back. "We will both live through this. I've been giving some thought as to how to confront your Jedi... _mentor." _The last word was strained, as if calling Ziare that brought the Sith physical pain.

Torin wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "And?"

"She cannot drain my power if she cannot touch it."

It made sense, but he failed to see where she was leading. "You won't be fighting?"

"I will. You will not."

He took a sharp breath in. "I'm not going to hesitate. Im going to kill her. I don't care how many arms she grows back—"

Vathamma held up her hand to stop him. "How many times have you fought her already?" The question brought him back to cold reality in an instant. He folded his hands up and looked down at the floor. "You will stop the Mass Shadow Generator. I will handle the Jedi."

"How?"

She chewed her lip thoughtfully and leaned forward, unfolding her hands as if preparing some academic lecture.

"Do you remember when you were poisoned on Balmorra?"

It had easily been the worst end to a night of drinking he'd ever had.

"Of course."

"And do you remember how I slowed the poison's effects?"

"You said you performed... Sith magic. To 'bind our fates'."

"There is a similar ritual, no longer used. Powerful Force users bind their souls to an object—a phylactery—storing their power within it. As long as Ziare does not touch that, she cannot touch my power."

"Why isn't it used anymore?" It certainly sounded useful, for the sufficiently paranoid Sith.

"The user can still be shot, stabbed, crack their head open on a rock—the ritual only protects their connection to the Force."

"Oh."

"And if an enemy discovered where the phylactery was kept..."

"They could destroy it."

She nodded.

"So you want to do it temporarily, until Ziare is beaten?"

She tapped her fingers together. "It can't be done temporarily." He looked at her in surprise. "Its permanent."

"That's..."

"I know. The idea of having to watch over some fragile relic for the rest of my days..." She looked Torin in the eyes. "But what if my phylactery could watch over itself?"

He gawked at her in silence, then pointed at his chest.

"Yes," she said.

"What would that do to me?"

"You wouldn't even notice."

He tapped his fingers together anxiously. "If I die, you die."

"You would have to be more careful with your person." She looked off to the side and scratched her face with one finger. "And I would have to keep an eye on you. I can't have half my soul running around, unprotected."

"Right."

"You wouldn't be my Apprentice. You'd be more like..." She wheeled her hand about in the air as she mulled over her words. "An equal partner."

"You said this was irreversible?"

She nodded.

"And you're okay with having one... _partner _for the rest of your life?"

"I would not have proposed it otherwise."

His foot started tapping as he chewed his lip, considering what she was proposing.

"It makes sense."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, then quickly calmed herself. "It's the logical thing to do."

Logical wasn't the word he'd use to describe engaging in a Sith ritual designed to tamper with their souls. He'd said it made _sense, _but those were more sterile words than what he truly wanted to say.

"How do we..."

She pulled him up from the bed and led him out into the hall. "Wait here a moment." She rummaged around in the cargo hold for a minute, then shut herself in the bedroom and did Gods knew what while Torin shifted his weight from foot to foot. After a few more minutes the door opened, and she brought him inside.

The room was dark, lit only by a single candle in the center of the floor. The bed had been tilted up against the wall to make room for the emblem Vathamma had scorched into the metal flooring with her lightning, an intricate spiral of alien language and circuitous designs. If he had walked in on such a sight unprepared, his first thought would have been that he was about to get his organs harvested.

"Sit down."

She led him by the shoulders to the center of the circle, where he sat cross-legged, then hiked up her robe and knelt down in front of him. Her hands went to the sides of his face and her forehead pressed down onto his. This was getting very strange, very fast.

"Is this what you did when I was poisoned?"

"Quiet," she whispered.

After a few moments with her head pressed to his, she started muttering. The words were barely audible, a fast whisper in an alien tongue that blurred together the longer he listened. Her chant rose and fell like ocean waves, and whether from the darkness of the room or her lulling chant he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He shut them, and time seemed to move in slow-motion and fast-forward all at once. He could no longer sense her touch, but he could feel her words wrapping around him and winding through him like a thousand silk threads.

A pressure on his head eased, and he realized that her palms had left his cheeks. Her rhythmic chanting stopped soon after, ending on a note that had the feel of a muttered prayer. When he opened his eyes she was sitting back on her folded legs.

"I don't feel any different," he said.

"I told you that you wouldn't."

Still, he had expected to feel _some _change after such an elaborate ritual.

"Do _you _feel any different?"

"No." She stood up and went to leave the room. "I feel exactly the same."

* * *

Yavin IV was hardly visible past the immense field of Imperial and Republic ships blockading it. The Alliance was in full swing, as both fleets sat on opposite ends of the jungle moon with their guns ready to fire on any unauthorized ships moving to or from the surface. The first time Torin had visited, it was an uninhabited jungle where he had nearly joined the ranks of entombed dead. Now, it played host to Revanite and Alliance forces who battled it out among the thick forests and fetid swamps.

Isatryn's ship had no trouble slipping through the blockade, and soon the cloaked vessel was skirting the moon in low orbit. For much of the trip, Torin and Vathamma had discussed how to actually _find _Ziare and her weapon. Neither was able to muster a method besides the one that had worked the first time—for Torin to trust in the Force and feel her out when they got close enough. Trust was something he was short on these days, but necessity had made him very generous with it lately.

"Well?" Vathamma leaned over the pilot's chair as Torin closed his eyes and focused on the moon.

"Should I use my hands? I feel like I should use my hands. " He held his fingertips outwards as he projected his awareness out towards the moon like a fisherman casting a net.

"Just do whatever feels natural." A growing impatience simmered underneath her words. That much he could sense.

"None of this feels natural."

That was something of a lie. Feeling with the Force was something he was becoming used to. Months ago he had been blind, but before he knew it his proverbial third eye had snapped wide open. It only took a minute of searching before he became aware of an all-too familiar void tugging on him—an unnatural hole in the midst of Yavin's pearlescent glow. It may have been a world of tombs and graves, but it was filled with life nonetheless. Life caught in conflict and war, unaware of the greater hunger looming under it all.

"Do you have it?"

"Yeah." He swallowed and resisted the urge to cut himself off from the cold presence he had come into contact with. "And it's growing. Fast."

"Well?" Where is it?"

"It's..." As soon as he tried to hone in on it, the presence weakened, as if he had narrowed in too close and lost some of it. Expanding his awareness, he soon realized that there were _two _presences. One was weaker than the other, but they were of unmistakable similarity. "There's _two _of them."

"The Jedi." She rumbled thoughtfully for a moment. "This changes nothing. If she parted with her weapon, then we'll split up to deal with them both."

"I still don't like the idea of you fighting her alone."

"I won't be alone." She pushed off of his chair and made for the rear of the ship. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a satellite to drop into the trash chute."

The Sith did exactly as she said, dragging the Eradicator to the cargo bay's garbage disposal and unceremoniously hefting it into the compartment before sealing it again. Torin jettisoned the trash, leaving the sphere to float in space behind their ship.

With that done, he brought the vessel in towards the moon. Wind rocked the ship's hull as Torin brought them through thick cloud cover into Yavin's atmosphere. Lightning storms raged above the dense jungle fast coming into view, and heavy clouds threatened to drop a week's worth of rain at the slightest provocation.

Soon, they honed in on the nearer of the twin voids drawing Torin towards the moon. They flew over a broad valley miles long, lined with mossy temples and choked with overgrowth, ringed on three sides by steep cliffs that cut the area off from the surrounding jungle. On the fourth end, two spear-wielding stone Sith a hundred feet tall guarded the entrance down into the valley.

"The Jedi is here?" Vathamma said.

Torin nodded.

They set the ship down in a clearing just before a craggy canyon entrance that led into the valley. As soon as they landed, Vathamma made for the exit ramp.

"I'll find this Jedi, and kill her. You get to wherever they've set up the Generator."

Torin followed her out onto the moon's surface. The air was heavy and warm, and in no way a reprieve from the cramped confines of the ship. That much hadn't changed since his first time on Yavin. What had changed was the sound of the jungle—there was none. Gone were the cries of birds and the holler of monkeys, leaving only the quiet rustle of leaves.

"I don't know if I can do it alone," he said.

"You don't trust me to destroy that weapon, do you?" It was half question, half statement, and all the more reason for him to follow her plan. But it didnt ease his concerns one bit. He kept following her until they reached the canyon entrance. Tall rock walls shot upward, shadowing a winding jungle path that cut a zigzagging route downward.

"I don't know if _you _can do this alone." His voice rang out along the cliffside, an exclamation he had not intended to sound so desperate.

Vathamma rested her hand on the cliff face and looked back at him. "If you want to help me, then leave. Our ritual was pointless if you stay close by."

He reluctantly stepped back, then watched as she continued down the path before he himself returned to the ship and took off. The distance between them grew, a distance Vathamma could practically measure to the foot by the degree to which her connection to the Force weakened.

There was something she had left unmentioned when describing the ritual to Torin. A lie of omission. The reason the use of phylacteries had fallen out of favor was that one's connection to the Force waned in direct relation to the distance between it and the owner.

With her living phylactery already miles away, she doubted she could manage more than some light telekinesis and a cheap illusion or two. Still, she had her lightsaber—and her eye in the sky. Nor would that power she had relinquished go to waste. Cut off from it's owner, it would flow into the nearest suitable vessel. In this case, the young man who now carried it.

The valley below the canyon path was an overgrown causeway of cracked brick that connected the dozen temples on either side, leading to a grand step pyramid a mile ahead that cast a shadow over the others. That seemed as likely a location as any to find the Jedi, but Vathamma did not have to guess.

A trail had been left for her. Dead grass and wilted vines cut a path of death straight down the middle of the valley, painting a road of black and gray that marked Ziare's passage. Either she had deliberately drained her surroundings of what life they had, or she was beginning to do it with as little thought as breathing.

Vathamma walked through the valley, passing through the long shadows cast by the millennia-old temples as she took the path of death laid out for her. A long staircase went from the base of the pyramid to the top, running hundreds of feet high at a sharp incline. She ascended, moving out of the humid, stale air into wind-swept heights that grew cooler with each level she passed.

Minutes later she reached the top, a square roof a hundred feet in any direction. Dozens of stone pillars dotted the square, arranged in some random order whose meaning was known only to those long-dead Sith who had erected them. Dark clouds hung low over the rooftop, crackling with lightning that brushed the caps of the columns around her.

From where she stood at the top of the stairs, Vathamma could see clear across the square to a throne near the opposite edge. The back was turned to her, and it faced a small, circular platform that jutted out of the pyramid's top. She could just barely make out a robed arm on the armrest, moving up and down in repetitive motions. As she walked closer, she saw that the person's fingers were drumming idly on a skull. Vathamma did not have to guess who sat there.

"This is the first time we've met," the Sith shouted. "But I've never wanted to kill anyone more." Ziare's fingers continued drumming on the skull. Either she had already sensed the other woman's approach, or didn't care enough to react. "I'm surprised you're not with your weapon."

"I left it in capable hands." Ziare gestured at the platform jutting out from the edge of the temple. "And I have someone to meet."

Vathamma began to circle around towards the front of the throne, weaving around pillars while keeping a good distance between her and the seated Jedi.

"The Emperor?"

"He is a living god to your people, is he not?"

"Something like that."

Ziare gestured at the platform before her. "Then this will be a religious experience for you."

"You have a leader who might not appreciate being tricked."

"Revan is a relic. After I consume the Emperor, I will move onto everyone else on Yavin IV. Sith Lords, half the Jedi order, legions upon legions of their followers—you have brought me a feast."

"I tried to warn them."

"Then I will turn to the stars." Ziare looked up at the night sky and its glimmering array of lights. "Maybe I will go to Dromund Kaas first, and take away all those you care about."

Vathamma laughed. "I don't care about anyone in that nest of vipers."

Ziare looked back to the Sith. "Then he is here?"

Vathamma remained silent.

"I hoped to speak with him one more time. There is so much more I want to tell him."

"I thought you might, which is why I came instead. You have no revelations that interest me."

"I _am _the revelation," Ziare shot back. "The Jedi taught us that at the end of all things, all will once again become one with the Force. But there is no need to wait. Everything will be one within me. A perfect unity, forever."

"That sounds like death."

"There are worse fates," Ziare mused. "I've seen them. You have no idea what awaits you out there, in the dark."

The woman was delusional. Vathamma considered the members of the Jedi Order as having a tenuous grasp on reality to begin with—this one had let go completely. Even so, she needed to keep her talking while the Sith herself got in position.

"And I suppose you do?"

"I've seen a great many things. The past, the future—and how to summon the tattered remains of a false god."

Vathamma remained silent for a moment, then spoke quietly. "And who showed you these things?"

Ziare stopped tapping the skull for a moment, then started again, faster this time.

"I am in communion with the very ground of being. Nothing is hidden from me."

As Vathamma rounded another pillar, the throne came back into view. It was empty. The skull on the armrest teetered back and forth, then fell to the ground with a dry crack.

"Running away, are we?" Vathamma stalked towards the throne with her lightsaber on guard, eyes darting to every concealing pillar and dark shadow.

"I'm not going to fight you." Ziare's voice seemed to come from every direction at once. "Pride is for small minds. I've become something more."

A sharp cry had Vathamma spinning to face the outer edge of the rooftop. A bird flapped its wings sluggishly before falling off the side.

"Torin said something similar," the Sith called out to the empty rooftop. "He seemed to think you'd become some sort of monster."

Vathamma reached the throne, with no response. She lowered her blade slightly, just enough to give the impression that she was letting her guard slip.

"But you're no monster. You're just a bitter old woman who will give anything for power."

Again, only silence.

"Who will give _up _anything for power."

A low growl swept around the pillars like a breeze. "Quiet."

The Sith smiled. She had struck a sore spot.

"What sort of woman abandons a child _twice, _reclaiming him each time he shows some promise?"

"Quiet..." came another growl, her growing frustration almost palpable.

"A greedy one. A bitter woman who would blame the Jedi Order for her own selfish choices."

A deep hum of anger sounded out, echoing throughout the space. The Jedi sounded a hair's breadth away from breaking down completely.

"And I can't say much for your method of... _reconnecting _with a boy you gave up in infancy."

"Shut up." Ziare muttered the words over and over until they became incoherent.

"In fact, I would say I was more a mother to him than you ever were."

An explosion shook Vathamma from the rear, sending dirt and leaves flying past the pillars. Ziare dropped down from out of thin air, smashing down into the stone and sending cracks shooting across the ground in all directions. She thrust both of her hands at the Sith. When nothing happened, the Jedi looked at her hands in confusion, and tried again.

"Was something supposed to happen?"

"I see what you've done." Ziare frowned and drew her lightsaber. "But it doesn't matter. All you've bought yourself is a minute more of life... and a more painful death."

Vathamma readied her lightsaber in front of her, and behind the glowing red blade, a confident smirk crept across her lips.

* * *

Many miles away from where he had left one former Master to hunt down another, Torin found the Mass Shadow Generator. It wasn't hard. In fact, he wished it had been a bit harder. He wanted more time. More time to rest, more time to prepare, more time to steel himself for a fight against unknown odds for the ultimate prize. Whatever Ziare had done to him, it had taken much of his power, and left him with the very real fear that he would not be able to handle what was to come. Not in a moral or emotional sense—he was fighting _people. _People with blasters, and blades, and lightsabers.

He was afraid.

But as his ship soared over the jungle canopy, that fear vanished. Immense power welled within him, and he couldn't figure out where it had come from or why. As if meeting his swelling confidence, a stone structure peaked out over the treeline ahead of him. The building was a domed cathedral, massive in size and supported by titanic pillars that created an open hall running along the outside of the building. A plaza sat in front of the main entrance, ringed by similar pillars with a stone obelisk at the center.

This wasn't like the sealed tombs covering the jungle moon. This was a place of worship, where legions of Sith long ago gathered to enact whatever arcane rituals their people were once known for. Now, after untold millennia lying dormant, it was being put to use once again—he could feel it.

Despite knowing what lay inside, the outside gave nothing to back up his gut feeling. On his first pass over, he spotted no vehicles, no soldiers, not even a lone turret emplacement. He circled back around, then set the ship down near the stone obelisk out front.

Outside, the air was hot—but not like before. This was a dry heat, like stepping into a furnace. His ship was fast, but it wasn't fast enough to put him in a new climate after twenty minutes of sub-orbital flight. Something was very wrong.

Besides the heat, the jungle was dead quiet. The birds were nowhere to be seen, the chirping insects had all gone quiet, and not even the soft whistle of wind came to break the dead stillness. Each step Torin took towards the towering temple entrance broke the dead silence anew, as if simply by being here, live, he was violating the profane sanctity of that unholy site.

As he neared the pair of pillars flanking the entryway, he saw something that made his blood run cold. Bodies, scattered around in heaps of twisted limbs and crumpled clothes. There were no blaster burns on them or the surrounding stonework. Blades? Gas? Chemicals?

A few feet closer, and the cause of death became clear. Each one of the dead was shriveled and gray, sucked dry of life by a hunger without end. His eyes searched the dessicated corpses, finding every conceivable species among them—but no young Twi'lek girl.

Inside, there were even more bodies. They weren't wearing ordinary dress like the ones outside, nor had they been killed the same way. These were Revanite soldiers, wearing the armor he had seen at the compound of Rishi. The grand hall circling around the inside of the temple was a warzone, covered in blaster marks and the remains of a battle that looked all too recent. There were thick cables and incomprehensible machinery built into the walls. They hummed with power, and far more life than the dead men and women laid out alongside them.

Torin finally came to a hall leading further into the temple, opening up into a massive chamber at the center of the temple, a room barely recognizable as the inner sanctum of an ancient holy site. The cobblestone had been torn up and replaced with metal flooring. At the center of each quarter of the room were huge circular metal grates, under which raged fires that teased at the mesh wiring.

The stone walls should have been lit up in shades of orange and red, but they weren't—they were dark. At the center of the room was a half-sphere of black panelling set into the ground, some fifty feet in diameter. Dark shadows seeped through the gaps in its housing, lashing out in all directions like angry spirits eager to do battle with the fires below.

"Welcome to the end of the world!" In front of the device stood Maliss arrayed in full armor like some guardian knight, blaster in one hand with the other held ready at her waist. "Sorry you've gotta spend it with me."

He gestured back at the hall behind him. "The Revanites attacked this place?"

"No, they were here to defend it. But I didnt want anyone interrupting us."

"So you _killed _them?"

She shrugged. "Warriors are born to die in war."

"This isn't war!" he shouted in disbelief, gesturing at the violated temple around them. "Whatever Ziare promised you, it's a lie. You'll _die _here and she'll become a god."

Maliss laughed. "No she won't." With her free hand she pulled a small object from her belt. Torin quickly recognized the pyramid as a holocron. He had helped Ziare retrieve one just like it from Onderon.

"That woman never got to the last page of the book. Unless she's learned how to transcend her physical form, she's dyin' here with the rest of us." With that she tossed the holocron far across the room, atop one of the grated vents covering the floor. A fire surged forth from below, consuming the relic and burning it away to nothing.

Torin had seen Ziare do amazing things _with _her physical form. She had regrown hands, survived an explosion that leveled a military base, and vanished into thin air. But _transcending _it? He didnt know what that meant, and didnt have the time to ponder it.

"Then _why _help her?"

"Did you forget who else is on this rock?"

Torin thought for a moment. The list was endless, and the entire planet was a who's-who of Republic and Imperial military. Even so, there was only one name besides his own that meant something to her.

"Revan," he said.

"I'll do what Mandalore himself couldn't do! I'll _kill _Revan."

"And you'll murder a moon full of people to do that?"

"_People." _She sounded as if she would have spat on the ground if she weren't wearing her helmet. "Republic, Empire, Jedi, Sith—fuck 'em all." In a flash her hand shot to her waist, drawing a sword hilt and activating it as she swept the black energy blade across the floor in a fountain of sparks.

"War is for warriors, and you're just a jumped-up kid who hit the power lottery." She pointed her sword at him, so directly that the thin blade was almost invisible, though he could still hear its soft hum. "I'm giving you one chance to scurry off before this thing activates."

The time for traded insults was over. He drew his own lightsaber and pointed it at her. "If you don't leave, now, I will _kill _you." Neither his voice nor hand shook one bit.

For a time the vast space was silent, save the crackle of flame in the vents below and the hum of both their weapons. Then, Maliss lowered her blade and took a step towards him, and the exit. His heart leapt—then sunk, as she raised her blaster and fired it at him, breaking into a run as shot after shot struck his lightsaber. He rushed forward to meet her, wincing against the blasts of light with each bolt he deflected.

In an instant she was on him, her sword crashing forward to meet his saber. The opening shots had set him off balance, and his clumsy block of her blow sent him crashing to the side, a flail of limbs that he just barely managed to turn into a roll that put him back on his feet in time for the second blow—but there was none. Moving his guard away from his face, he saw Maliss hurtling back with her jetpack on full blast. Then she took a sharp turn, skirting the edge of the room as she strafed him with blaster fire.

With a moment to concentrate he could have used the Force to pluck her right out of the air, but she wasn't giving him any opening whatsoever. Every fiber of his being was focused on blocking her blaster fire, and she was moving far too fast for him to catch hold of as he spun around on his feet. One shot slipping through could mean death.

Just as he felt his movements growing sluggish, he got the opening he was waiting for. A tendril of shadow lashed across the room, dropping a curtain of shadow between him and the Mandalorian. He dashed to the side and held his hand out, intending to feel for her in the gloom and pull her down to the ground.

Then, a shot cut right through the darkness and pierced his thigh. Somehow, even through that total darkness, she could still see him. With a cry of agony Torin fell onto one knee, spinning back around to block more blaster fire. Pain lanced through his leg as he maneuvered awkwardly on the ground, and rage overtook him.

He swept his hand out at the darkness, sending out a blast of air that shook the room with its force. A moment later the shadows around him receded, and he threw out another blast at Maliss even as the first sent stone slabs raining down from the wall and ceiling. The second hit her head on, sending her into a spin before she managed to right herself. She ended her strafing maneuver and shot up overhead Torin, raining down blaster fire from overhead while he tried to batter her out of the air. One shot went clear through his shoulder, and the other grazed his right hand, forcing him to drop his lightsaber.

Old scars and older wounds flared hot and sharp like a thousand tiny daggers, spreading out from his hand to the rest of his body like poison. He screamed and slammed his balled up fists against his knees, then threw his hands outwards. A field of blue lightning spread outward with him at its center, covering every inch of the room and catching Maliss in its arcing net. Her body seized and her jetpack went dead, and she fell like a rock into one of the fires raging below her. A tremendous _bang _sounded out as she struck the grating, and Torin lowered his hands as he stared into the roaring flames.

Her jetpack came clattering out of the flames, bouncing along the ground towards Torin. As it neared his feet it exploded, sending him flying backwards onto the ground. Before he could do more than clamber up onto one knee, Maliss was on him, a knight in burning armor, her black sword hammering down onto the barrier he projected with tremendous force. Each blow was like a meteor strike, sending tremors through his body and cracking the stone floor as he used the Force to redirect the weight of her blows downward. Even then, it felt as if his arms might break from the sheer ferocity of her attack.

He wanted to do to her what Ziare had almost done to him. He wanted her to die, so that he could live. But he couldn't. Not because he was unwilling to kill Maliss—he had resigned himself to that—but because of what it would do to him. Ziare had become a monster, in the truest sense of the word. That wasn't going to happen to him. If he went home, it would be as a man.

But even after seeing what Ziare had become, he couldn't put her teachings out of his mind completely. Nor was he unwilling to use what was useful. 'Take her power, and make it your own,' Ziare had said to him when she told him to kill Isatryn. She seemed to think it was something he could do on instinct.

He prayed she was right.

As Maliss brought her sword down for one final blow, Torin dropped his barrier and focused his power on his hands themselves, pulling energy inward instead of projecting it outward. The Mandalorian's blade sliced through the air above his hands, and then...

It vanished.

Maliss gasped in shock, lunging forward awkwardly as her sword became a bladeless hilt. With his eyes squeezed shut, Torin released the energy he had absorbed from the saber as a brilliant white light that blinded the Mandalorian. She stumbled back, fumbling with her helmet and waving her sword defensively in front of her. The blade shot back to life, but she had already given him his opening.

Torin used the Force to grab Maliss' wrists, then yanked them outwards in a twisting motion, forcing her to drop her weapon. But he didnt stop there. As he rose to his feet, he extended his hold on her, wrapping the woman in coils of invisible force that crushed her chest plating and dug into the gaps in her armor.

"You want an end worthy of a Mandalorian?" His fingers clenched, holding tight the struggling woman. "How about the one where they **lose**—like they always do."

Her movements were reduced to slight twitches and tortured gasps as she fought to take in air. Torin lifted her high up into the air, then slammed her back down to the ground in an explosion of armor. He lifted her up again and swung her far off to the side, flinging her against the far wall.

Losing focus amidst his fury, his grip on her slipped and she slid down the wall to the floor. He picked her up by one foot, not even bothering to secure his hold before flinging her back across the room. Pieces of metal came off of her as she rolled to a stop, and her crumpled breastplate dangled by one strap while she pushed herself to her knees with wobbly arms.

Torin stooped down and picked up Maliss' sword, then limped towards her. It was heavy, and felt awkward in his hand, but he did not need finesse for what he was about to do.

As he reached her, he drew the blade back and prepared to end this—all of it. As he readied his strike, Maliss used the last of her strength pull off her helmet with a _hiss _of pressurized air.

And he hesitated.

Maliss' face was bloodied and bruised, and the eye that wasn't already swollen shut was closed, her face a portrait of serene acceptance. The entire fight had been a battle of attrition, where a single slip-up meant death. No matter how beaten down Maliss was, that brief moment of hesitation should have meant Torin's end.

But she did nothing.

And he, in that moment, remembered that he had resolved not to go home a monster.

Torin used the Force to tear a metal strut out from under one of the thick power cables running along the wall, then brought it flying towards Maliss. The Mandalorian let out a muffled _oomph _as she was thrown back against a wall by the girder. He dug the edges of the steel beam into the brickwork, wrapping her in a tight steel prison with her arms held fast to her side.

"Were not done!" She squirmed furiously, but even with her strength she couldn't get the leverage to free herself. "No one wins until one of us is dead!"

"It's over. That's good enough for me." He turned to the device at the center of the room and held his arms out wide, applying a force to either side of the sphere. With immense effort he brought his hands slowly together, crushing the protective metal housing inward. Each new crack brought more shadows seeping out like blood through a wound, and the machine let out a terrible cry.

"It's over when I say it's over." Torin heard a series of clicks behind him, and looked back to see Maliss holding a sphere in her hand—she had grabbed a thermal detonator from her belt. "I decide how I go out. And _when _I go."

Time seemed to move in slow motion. Torin spun about on his heels, pointing his hands at Maliss and forming a barrier around the grenade. As soon as the bubble closed the explosive contained within detonated, pushing superheated plasma out at supersonic speeds. Everything contained within was atomized—including Maliss' hand.

The Mandalorian screamed, thrashing in her restraints while Torin threw the bubble away from her. It collided with the Mass Shadow Generator, blowing a hole in the top of the shielding. Dark shapes flowed outward and upward, spreading over the ceiling and crawling down the walls. Torin felt his feet sink into the floor and his knees buckle, like a massive weight had just been hefted onto his shoulders. The housing on the machine broke further, sucked inwards by a black hole at the center that spun about like the eye of a growing storm.

Torin tore his eyes away from that terrifying sight and ran over to the wounded Mandalorian, flinging the steel girder from the wall and dropping her to the floor.

"Move!" He pulled on her remaining good arm, but she shoved him away.

"Let me _die, _you asshole," she wheezed. All the color had left her face, and her words were spoken between strained breaths. Her wound had been cauterized at the wrist, but that hasn't stopped shock from setting in.

"I can't do that. We're friends, right?" He pulled on her arm again, and she stumbled up with a groan. "In fact, I'd say you're probably my best friend."

She stopped fighting him and leaned her heavy weight on his shoulder as the pair staggered towards the exit. The shielding on the Mass Shadow Generator was gone, sucked into the black hole at the center of the room. Debris and pieces of stonework slid across the floor, carried by raging winds that swirled around it like a tempest. The metal beneath their feet crumpled like accordions, forcing Torin to maneuver around awkwardly towards the exit.

By the time they were in the hall leading from the central chamber, the temple itself was coming apart. Stone bricks slid out of place, entire walls collapsing and rolling in pieces past his feet as he struggled ever further away. The ground was flat, but it felt as if each step was up a sharp incline. Torin stumbled into the plaza outside, then fell down as the world seemed to take a sharp turn upward.

Suddenly the ground was a cliff face that he tried to get a grip on with gravity pulling him back towards the temple. Wind and dust battered his face, and he could hear a sharp screech as his cloaked ship slid towards him on its landing gears. He used the Force to fling Maliss upward, freeing up his other hand and allowing him to wedge his fingers into a gap in the brickwork. The gusts of wind became a deafening roar, and he could hear the ancient building behind him crumbling to bits as the stray singularity gave one last vicious pull, then finally died.

As the dirt and dust flung up into the air began to settle, he saw that he had managed to toss Maliss onto the other side of one of the few remaining pillars ringing the plaza. The Mandalorian was curled unceremoniously around it, her face white as a sheet and eyes closed. The temple—what was left of it—was little more than a mountain of stone and metal. Not a single arch was left standing.

* * *

Jedi and Sith raced around teetering pillars in a blur of red and green light, the former toppling them with waves of her hand while the latter jumped and rolled to avoid being crushed. Ziare's attacks were an elegant flow, each swing bringing both ends of her saber crashing against Vathamma's in quick succession. A novice duelist might have been overwhelmed by the baffling display.

But Vathamma was no amateur swordsman. Ziare's style was flowery, more a dance than a means of killing—and this was no dance. With each split-second opening the Jedi left in her guard with her exaggerated movements, Vathamma took advantage, delivering quick jabs to the woman's shoulders and taking her pound of flesh whenever the opportunity presented itself.

And sometimes quite a bit more than a pound. The Jedi was getting desperate, sloppy, leaving herself open to blows that, against any other opponent, would have meant the end of the fight. Vathamma swung wide, cutting the Jedi's arm off at the elbow and making her drop both limb and weapon to the ground.

Ziare cried out in pain, then stumbled backwards before being swallowed whole by a dark tear in space that appeared behind her with a thunderous boom. Vathamma gave chase, jabbing where she had disappeared through but striking only air. Then, another explosion came from behind her. Vathamma ducked, spinning around and swinging low, just quickly enough to take off the Jedi's other hand as she tried to retrieve her weapon. Ziare retreated back into nothingness, leaving Vathamma once again alone among the collapsed pillars and scorched ground.

The Sith stood tall and fingered her saber, keeping her awareness open and preparing to strike in whichever direction the Jedi appeared from. Beside her, Ziare's arm and other hand were turning to ash, burning embers carried off by the wind until there was nothing left but the tattered bits of her robe.

"I may not have the Force," Vathamma shouted. "And you may have the power of however many you've devoured." She moved back towards the throne, away from the pillars and their many hiding places. "But quite frankly, I'm better than you."

A forced laugh echoed across the pillared rooftop. "We will see what your skill with the lightsaber matters once I've consumed your Emperor."

Vathamma bit her lip and grunted in frustration. Then, a beep came from her wrist, and her annoyance vanished with one look at the communicator. The Eradicator was in position.

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" said Ziare.

The Sith raised her wrist up to her mouth. "Fire when ready."

For a moment, there was only the sound of wind and the cool air of the temple roof. Then, the sky wept red, and a beam of light rained down on the temple. Vathamma turned towards the throne and shielded her eyes as a continuous beam of laser fire rained down on its target. She might not have been able to see Ziare, but the Eradicator could.

The beam faded, and Vathamma lowered her hand. Twenty feet ahead of her a skeleton lay smoldering, everything but the bones burnt to ash. The wind picked up, increasing in speed until a cyclone raged around the body. Yellow wisps of light crept across the temple ground and converged on it, and Vathamma watched in horror as soft tissue grew from nothing, stitching itself back together. First tendons, then muscle, then a brain and eyes.

"Darth Jadus designed the Eradicators to hunt his Sith rivals," she shouted out. "But killing a Jedi isn't all that different."

All around the temple, the jungle was dying. A blight spread outwards with Ziare at its center, trees withering to twisted husks as far as the eye could see. But even that wasn't enough. The unnatural regeneration creating Ziare's body anew slowed down as it was forced to reach further and further for fuel. Her right arm remained unfinished, and her body was a mottled patchwork of torn flesh that was falling apart again just as quickly as it had regrown.

Satisfied that the woman no longer posed an immediate threat, Vathamma walked over and pointed her lightsaber down at Ziare. The Jedi looked down at her with lidless, wild eyes, breathing frantically with her teeth clenched in a furious rage.

"What are you waiting for?" Ziare wheezed in cracked tones.

Vathamma lowered her saber. "I think Torin would be rather cross with me if I killed his mother. Even one as horrid as you."

"That is the difference between us." As she spoke, Ziare raised her left hand. Behind Vathamma, the Jedi's lightsaber rose from the ground and turned in the air so that it pointed at the Sith's turned back. "I will accept even his **hatred!**"

With that final word she pulled her hand back, bringing the lightsaber flying towards her. It sailed harmlessly through the Sith, continuing forward towards Ziare's chest. In an instant her rage turned to shock, and she stared down in horror at the lightsaber she had impaled herself with. Then, even that expression vanished, her eyes rolling back and one final death rattle escaping her burned throat as her head fell back to the ground.

Vathamma stepped out from behind a nearby pillar and lowered her hand, allowing the double she had created to dissolve into a fine mist. She walked over and switched off the still-burning lightsaber the Jedi lay impaled on, watching as the decay that had gripped the woman increased in speed now that she was dead.

A few frantic beeps came from her wrist, and she looked up to the sky.

"Yes, yes. A deal's a deal." With the press of a few buttons her connection with the Eradicator was severed, and she looked upward to see one last glint of red light before the machine disappeared.

That light was quickly replaced by another. Two rays of blinding white stretched across the sky from opposing horizons, converging above the temple before shooting downward onto the raised platform at the temple's edge. The beam burned bright, but Vathamma could feel no heat from it.

Part of the light split off from the main column, moving from the platform through the throne like a ghost. Vathamma stumbled back away from it, shielding her face and watching out the corner of her eye as the glowing shape stopped beside Ziare. She swore that she could hear a disappointed '_tsk, tsk' _coming from the light. The shape rippled, and for a brief moment she could make out the bearded visage of an elderly man. He gave her a subtle smirk, then once again dissolved back into an effusion of blinding light that blanketed Ziare's remains. A _boom _sounded out and the glowing mass shot into the sky, leaving behind only the Jedi's rattling lightsaber.

The glowing ring stretching around the moon faded, as did the pillar of light smothering the temple top. Everything grew quiet—but only for a moment. The crack of stone drew Vathamma's attention downward, where a jagged line was quickly racing across the battered stonework. With all the noise and fury of a mountain collapsing, a third of the temple sheared off from the rest, taking the only staircase with it. Vathamma just barely managed to leap onto the remaining intact structure, but she could feel more rumbles threatening to take the rest down with her.

There was no way down. Only a sheer drop a hundred feet to the next level of the tiered temple rooftop. She crept toward the fissure that had been created by the collapsed section and looked around desperately for a way off of the quaking death trap. There, she saw one. A hole opened up in the air, expanding in size to reveal the extending ramp of the stealth ship. Torin hurried down the ramp and held onto the corner of the side wall, then leaned out and extended his hand to her.

"Jump!" he shouted.

Vathamma hated heights. But, she hated falling even more. She jogged away from the edge and then turned back, running full force before taking a running leap towards the awaiting ship. As soon as her feet left solid ground she closed her eyes, and became all too aware of the heaviness of her body and the shifting direction of the wind rushing past her face. She wasn't going to make it.

Then, she felt as if she wasn't moving at all. She felt weightless. Opening her eyes, she saw Torin still standing on the edge of the ramp, drawing his arm back as he slowly brought her towards him. She touched down on the ramp, then collapsed into his arms with an immense sigh of relief. Before either one could say a word to the other, the rest of the temple collapsed, sending up a cloud of dust and debris that had the pair staggering up the closing ramp in a fit of coughing.

"Eugh!" Vathamma let out a bizarre screech of disgust and staggered away from the battle-worn Mandalorian laid out on a cargo bay bench. Maliss' eyes were closed, her skin a pallid white. The Sith crept towards her and nudged her in the ribs with her foot. "Is she dead?"

"She wasn't when I put her to sleep." Torin went to the bridge, and Vathamma took note of the medical kit opened up below the bench. A syringe and empty vial lay next to it. She followed him and took a seat beside him.

With Ziare dead and the Mass Shadow Generator destroyed, there were no immediate dangers on the surface, but lingering brought the risk that one of the factions embroiled in the moon-spanning conflict would come to see about the collapsing temple. Soon they were back in orbit, and Torin let go of the controls and went to enable the autopilot before pausing and sitting back in his seat.

"I'm not sure where to go."

Outside, the stars spun slowly with the subtle pitch of his ship spinning in space. With the moon out of view, he couldn't see a single Alliance ship.

"Vaiken Spacedock." Vathamma twisted around in her chair to look back at the cargo bay and its unsecured prisoner. "We need to decide what to do with this one."

For now, it seemed as good as a destination as any. At the very least, it would give him time to think.

* * *

The trip _did _give time to think, but not about the question Vathamma had posed to him. His attention was anchored firmly in the present, overwhelmed by the mere fact that he was alive—and not just him. So was Vathamma. He'd even managed to save Maliss, from himself and from herself—minus a hand. The Mass Shadow Generator was no more, and the Alliance had stopped Revan from performing the final part of a ritual that his followers believed would have brought back the Sith Emperor for him to strike down for good. There were hazy reports of strange lights appearing in the sky that could not be attributed to the ongoing battle, but none of the officials involved seemed to put much stock in them. Torin put slightly more, considering that the reports placed said lights above the temple he had retrieved Vathamma from after some unknown force had split it in two.

"You're telling me _nothing _strange happened?" He leaned over the armrest of the co-pilot's chair, searching Vathamma's face for any sign that she was hiding something.

"Of course _strange _things happened!" She frowned and wrapped her fingers around the control stick, preparing to bring them into Vaiken Spacedock. "That woman sucked the life from ten acres of forest."

"You know what I mean. Revan's ritual. Did it work?"

"Revan?" She laughed. "Oh poor, naive Torin." The station's tractor beam began to draw them into the bay, and she let go of the controls to turn in her seat and look him in the eye. "Do you think that was truly Revan? Are you as gullible as the cultists suckered into his crusade?"

He turned away from her smug smile, slumping back in his seat and feeling deflated as the ship set down in the docking bay. With the bulk of the Imperial war machine still occupied at Yavin IV, the station wasn't nearly as busy as it had been before. A few freighters and commercial vessels were lined up alongside their own frigate, mechanic crews and visitors coming and going at an almost leisurely pace.

"So he was... what? A con man?"

"He wouldn't be the first fraudulent messiah."

Torin sat silent for a moment, then let out a short laugh.

Vathamma eyed him curiously. "What's so funny?"

"So it was all just some ghost story."

She shot him a hostile stare. "Ghosts aren't real." The fierce conviction of her declaration surprised him. At first he assumed that would be the end of it, but she continued to glare at him from the corner of her eye while chewing her lip. "If they were, I would know about it."

He smiled uneasily. "It's just an expression."

"They are tricks of the light, or fevered visions." She leaned over her armrest and stared him right in the eyes. "You agree with me, don't you?"

"Of course," he said quickly. This wasn't the hill he wanted to die on. "Speaking of ghosts, let me check to make sure we don't have a new one."

He went to the cargo hold, only to find an empty bench and the remaining scraps of Maliss' armor. The emergency escape hatch in the floor was opened up to a ten foot drop to the bay floor below.

"She's gone." he called back to her. He couldn't will himself the energy to even think about chasing the Mandalorian down in the busy starport.

"I see," Vathamma muttered. "Well, let's get her out of here before she starts stinking up the ship."

"No, I mean she _escaped."_

Vathamma shot up in her seat, then eased herself back down with a tired sigh. "Oh, who cares."

On his way back to the cockpit, he stopped in his tracks and ran his hands along his waistline. "Have you seen that sword I took from her?"

"Did you get _pick-pocketed _by a one-handed woman?"

It certainly seemed that way. Neither of them had bothered to try and tie Maliss up with what little they had available onboard the ship. The drug he had injected her with should have put her in a medically-induced coma, but apparently had worn off well before its intended time. She had bragged about having built up immunities to every conceivable toxin and poison. He just hadn't expected that to include life-saving medicine.

"Should we tell someone?"

She laughed. "Tell them what?"

"What happened!"

"With what proof? Darth Marr dismissed my concerns _before _the Generator disappeared into a black hole."

Torin returned to the cockpit and slumped down in his seat. With the Jedi dead and Generator destroyed for good, there really _was _no need to convince anyone that their story was true. Nor did he expect—or want—medals and accolades for what he had been through. What he didn't like was a mediocre end to a tale he'd long wanted to put to a close.

"I want a shower." Vathamma leaned the side of her head on her fist. Her hair was a mess and dark bags hung under her yellow eyes, but he still found himself unable to stop looking over at her. "And a drink."

"Those dont sound bad right now." He stood up and lifted up the armrest of her chair. "But there's something else I've been wanting to do." It was something that would have felt awkward with an injured woman sleeping close by.

"What?" she said, eyeing him warily.

He stooped down and slid his hands under her, then hoisted her up from the chair. Her eyes shot wide and she flailed like a wild animal, swinging her feet to the floor and twisting Torin's arm behind his back as she shoved him face-first against the wall.

"_What _are you doing?" she hissed.

He swallowed with his cheek pressed against cold metal. "I was going to carry you to the bedroom."

"Oh."

The pressure on his arm eased, and he turned around to see Vathamma settling back into the chair, laying on her side with her head propped up on one hand. After a few moments of silence she gestured impatiently, as if wondering what he was waiting for.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted her up and slung her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" she shouted between laughs, beating at his back as he carried her over the threshold and into the ship's bedroom.


	19. Epilogue

There's something funny about a story where, in the end, only the dead get what they want.

Vathamma gained responsibility without power. A Mandalorian who desired a perfect death, received an imperfect life. Ziare's boundless hunger was finally put to rest, and Isatryn's last wish that Torin not forget her remained fulfilled.

Maybe it was a good thing that he had never had a chance to tell her that he wouldn't forget. Every other promise he'd made, he had broken. He never did find Ayahe. With no trace of the girl and no trail to follow, he had no idea where to begin searching.

Luckily, she found him. He received a pre-recorded video call, a brief message telling him that she was safe with her new travelling companion. The thought of her jetting around the galaxy with a stranger had made his blood run cold. The moment the camera turned, the _reality _of who her companion was had him gripping the computer console and shaking it in a hot panic.

Which led him to break the other promise he'd made to himself. Tinnel IV was still firmly under Republic jurisdiction, and with the truce between them and the Empire still holding, that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Vathamma was still technically a Lord of the Sith Empire, and even though she lacked any actual political power, her species alone made long-term residence on the planet impossible.

Not that that had stopped him from delicately broaching the possibility with her. She had called it a 'backwater suitable only for inbred farmers,' and that had put the matter to rest.

So, he gifted the deed for his home to Ayahe. Nine months later, he came to his former home planet, where his ship skated across a purple sky before descending over sweeping fields of amber grain. A two-story home with white walls and gleaming bronzed domes lay in the distance, surrounded by derelict ships in varying stages of repair. He decloaked, then set his small ship down amongst the lumbering hulks littering what had once been his farm. Despite its questionable legality in Empire _or _Republic space, the stealth craft had been too useful to part with. It was a bit small, but he didnt have much use for more than one bedroom anyway.

A garage door in front of the home retracted, and two figures walked out to greet the ship as the ramp lowered—Maliss and Ayahe, the former smaller without her armor and the latter a few inches taller from time's passage.

The ramp hit the ground, and Torin walked out, his hands held tight to the shoulders of the Sith in front of him. She waddled awkwardly down the ramp, her hands supporting her swollen belly.

"I don't need your help to _walk," _she huffed.

Ignoring her protests, he continued his slow shuffle at her rear until they were on solid ground.

"Good God." Maliss stared at her stomach. "Is it his?"

Vathamma scoffed, then noticed Torin staring apprehensively at her. "Yes, it's his!"

Ayahe unfolded her hands and walked towards Torin, then put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on either cheek. Last time he saw her, she would have needed a footstool.

"It is good to see you again."

"Y-you too," he stammered.

Vathamma scowled at her and yanked Torin back by the arm. "What was that?"

"A customary Twi'lek greeting," the girl replied.

"Oh, really?" Vathamma pointed at her own cheek. "Then do it to me."

Ayahe stared at her blankly for a few moments before looking away. "No, I do not think so." With that she turned and went into the garage, leaving Vathamma to grumble incredulously.

"This is what happens when Twi'leks are allowed to roam free with no master."

Just as Torin kept telling himself, even someone who changes can keep some of their... _rough edges._

"You know, it's a good thing my parents aren't around anymore." He wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her hip to his. "They would have hated you."

The two women went dead silent. It wasn't a sore spot for him, and he certainly hadn't expected it to kill the mood so thoroughly.

"You know," said Vathamma. "I think you're right."

Desperate to change the subject, Torin waved a hand at the ships surrounding the home. "So what's all this?"

"My new business!" Maliss exclaimed confidently. "Ship refurbishment."

He eyed her uneasily. "Do you _know _anything about repairing ships?"

"No, but she does." Maliss grinned and motioned towards the home. "She's a genius."

"So you've lowered yourself to employing child labor," Vathamma said.

"Its called a _family business. _You'll understand when you have a kid of your own."

Vathamma tilted her head up to the sky and let out an exasperated groan. "I need a drink if I'm going to be talking to you."

"No, you don't," Torin called after her as she went into the house. He jogged back up the ramp of his ship, then came back down a moment later with bags in both hands. As he passed Maliss, she took one of the bags and hooked her other arm around him, pulling his back into her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

He swallowed and glanced off to the side. "You're welco—"

Before he could finish, she tightened her hold and dragged him towards the home.

"Come on, they're waitin' for us."

What was once the living room of his home had been stripped bare of most of its furniture and filled with metal cargo crates of all shapes and sizes. Ayahe sat atop one, swinging her legs back and forth while Vathamma pried the lid off of another container. She hefted out a repeater rifle, and Torin looked around in shock before opening a crate and finding a few dozen blasters packed into foam casing.

"Are you selling _guns?" _he said to Maliss.

"Well, if I'm being honest, the salvage business is more just a front for this." She gave Torin a reassuring smile. "And the export license attached to your farm is gonna be a real big help moving this stuff safely."

"And here I thought you were turning your life around."

"Hey. I'm done killing people.." She shot him a harsh glare as she went to put the lid back on the crate. "Now, I'll help other people kill those people."

Torin groaned and sat down on a box. "Am I an accessory to this?"

Vathamma, who had been stroking her chin thoughtfully for the duration of the exchange, finally spoke up.

"During my time at Imperial Intelligence, I became aware of a group of Umbaran dissidents who would pay through the nose for small armaments. The Dark Council forbid funding them under the belief that they were too _'vicious' _." She added exaggerated air quotes to what Torin was fairly certain was actually an accurate assessment. "I _would _demand 20% of the gross for establishing contact."

"Ten," Maliss said quickly.

"Fifteen."

"Deal." Maliss shook the Sith's hand, and Torin rushed forward to pull them apart.

"What?" No!"

Maliss rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a pussy." She then looked to Ayahe, and pointed to an adjoining room. "He needs cheering up. Show him the thing."

The Twi'lek shoved off of her seat and rushed out of the room, returning a moment later with a short metal cylinder. It _looked _like the hilt of a lightsaber. She stopped in front of Torin, then pressed a switch on the side. A red blade roared to life, nearly taking the tip of his nose off.

He gasped and snatched it from her hands, then switched it off.

"That's the Kyber crystal I gave you!" Vathamma exclaimed. How she could tell such a thing, he had no idea. "How did this one get ahold of it?"

"I gave it to her," he said. "Not for _this, _though."

"You _gave _her a lightsaber?"

"Not the entire saber," he said. Vathamma looked at him in confusion, and he glanced aside guiltily. "I threw the rest in a lake."

"A lake!"

"It was broken!" he snapped back. "You _blew it up _in my hand!"

Vathamma shook her head and looked back to Maliss. "He thinks he can win any argument by throwing that in my face."

Maliss seemed sympathetic to her plight. "You really need to learn to let stuff go," she said to him.

He glanced between the two in shock, stuttering with his mouth open before throwing up his hands and stomping out of the room in a huff. Ayahe followed, leaving Maliss and Vathamma alone amidst a small army's worth of weaponry.

"I'm gonna want to see that kid when it pops out." Maliss pointed at the Sith's stomach. "We're family now, after all."

With a disgusted groan and a roll of her eyes, Vathamma folded her arms and sat back down.

"In no way, shape, or form are you and I _family. _"

Those blunt words should have put any ideas the Mandalorian had to rest, but she continued her insistent, wordless stare. Vathamma wrinkled her brow in confusion, then looked to where Torin had gone as realization dawned. That open-mouthed, thoughtful look turned to one of horror as she spun back to Maliss and saw the woman slowly nodding with a broad, toothy grin.

* * *

**The End**

**Continued in: Seven Soldiers**


End file.
